


Shared Chambers Series

by mara87



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cannon/AU, F/M, Married Couple, Multiple Emotions, Scenes Extended/Missing Scenes, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mara87/pseuds/mara87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shared Chambers: This is Arthur and Guinevere's reign as King and Queen from the time beginning when Mordred and Morgana reappear. This is their love story, within their very private shared chambers, filled with love, pain, laughter, heartache, and new hope. This is the intimacy of marriage, its joys and its tragedies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> A Note on Shared Chambers: Honestly this story was never meant to be so long and to capture almost every episode. It was just a little challenge into writing a short one parter with Arthur and Gwen solely in their chambers. As series 5 went on though I had so much fun writing it, and received such lovely words about it, that I decided to keep up the writing. And so almost every episode received its 'Shared Chambers'. This is what I think was sometimes missing from series 5, the love story and the reign of Arthur and Guinevere. It almost solely, with a few exceptions, takes place within their chambers.
> 
> Important Note: This story follows where the series ended so there is major character death as there was in the series, and yet hopefully it ends with a little AU hope.

_ _

**Departure Note** This is a possible missing scene from 5.01 Arthur's Bane. Arthur goes off to save his knights, but the early morning before he shares private time with his wife, Queen Guinevere.

~~~~~~~~~~~

**Shared Chambers: _Departure_**

The room is still dark as she feels the movement and catches the shifting shadow. The hearth’s glow is out, but still her eyes find it easy to accustom. It was little more than three years ago she lived in a much smaller dwelling in which any light from an imaginary hearth would have been a dream.

His silhouette is appealing for certain. It is muscled and lean, but for that stubborn paunch of stomach she now knows well. Although she understands why he wakes so early, she sighs with regret that he must go.

Which he hears.

“Guinevere?”

Pushing back the satin red outer covers and white golden inner ones, she sits up on the bed. Her fingers gather at her white, gold trimmed nightgown, the material brushing over her thighs appealingly.

Even in the dark he notices the abundance of feminine limbs that have closed over his waist before in moments of passion. He looks away from them, concentrating upon her face instead.

She bites at her bottom lip, scooting forward on her knees, holding possessively to his blonde strands of hair. “You’re leaving now?”

He eyes her fondly, giving a moan as she pulls too hard, which she quickly appeases with a loving squeeze instead. “Getting ready. So we can be out of here by dawn’s light.”

She nods, lowering her hands, finding the sculpted planes of his chest. She caresses the nakedness with long meaningful strokes. ‘You’ll be careful?”

He stares at her lips for a moment, moving his head in. Kissing under her chin and around her neck, before answering, eyes closed. “I will be.”

She is certain that passage through Annis’s lands will keep him much safer. It was why she suggested it. But still she can’t help but worry as she keeps intimately touching his chest.

There was a time these feelings were new and these actions were novel, juvenile and exciting. Now there is still a thrill and yet it is calmed by maturity. She knows where his scars of battle are. She can find the inflictions upon his skin with ease and history of understanding. She touches him with a solid foundation of familiarity.

As he does the same with her. Fingers climbing up and within the plunge of her nightgown. He caresses her tender breasts as his lips gently play upon her neck and collarbone.

“You sometimes are too daring on these missions. You worry so much for your men that you take chances.”

She has a lot more to say than that, but he definitively hushes her as her fingers find that paunch of his stomach, glide over it and just a bit lower to where it commences, a man’s mark. She’s careful not to go further. This is not about sexual desire even though she has no rushes of embarrassment about that anymore. Hasn’t for a good sum of years. It’s just matched by how he only kindly strokes her breast, knowing making the gesture more handled would bring up her own passionate desires.

Basically she wants him to feel loved and fulfill her own need to touch him, feel him near. As she is aware he is doing the same with her constitution.

She gives a sigh, giving it up, pulling him close, holding tightly at his back. He gives his own, grasping her nightgown’s material hard in his fingers.

She knew when she came into this it was how it would be. This truly is the price of marrying a ruler and not a farmer. If Arthur was nothing but a farmer he’d have to fear maybe bandit attacks and storms, not a woman of magic who hates him so much, hates his rule so much she will stop at nothing to see him dead and gain his throne.

Morgana is so dangerous now, so bitterly changed from the lady she once served that her appearance chills everyone.

His fingers lift under her braided hair, impatiently letting it out of its binds. She would laugh at his boyish egotistical urge if she wasn’t so concerned. He prefers her hair down, loving its long ringlets. Yet she braids it at night to keep it from tangling into a mess in the morning. Especially with early wake up calls during times he’s away, it is a necessity. Now he’s ruined it though. She can just feel his satisfactory smile as his fingers frolic into what they have unbound.

And she allows it. Would allow him anything now as it could be weeks, possibly more than a month before she sees him again. It means the kingdom will be hers to command.

There was a time that made her feel nervous. Now she is entirely used to her role and ready to fulfill it. What it comes down to is that the kingdom must be protected and kept within good stead. While her husband, knights and Merlin are away that will be her duty, one she takes very seriously.

As if understanding that feeling, he whispers now, “The thing about these trips away is before I wasn’t sure how Camelot would fare. Ever since marrying you, making you Queen though, I don’t worry so much. You’re too good at this.”

She smiles at the compliment, hearing no more and not expecting it. Praise is nice, but never necessary. She is not so juvenile to need it and he must focus on the mission. Gwen pulls away a little and then brings her arms up and around his sides. She loves the warmth of his chest, and the smoothness of his skin, but for his scars, but for the fine lines of hair upon his chest. She moves her hands up over his breast, grazes at his nipples, hearing him murmur against her.

His eyes look down, upon, and he kisses her firmly, this time upon the lips. His tongue finds convolution with hers. His mouth opens more and he holds her pressingly, intimately, fervently. His mouth whispers nonsense words in between. And then hungrily finds hers again. Lips that ache with little liquid fire under his. She tastes like the sweet nature and heavenly juice of life. His head falls upon her shoulder, leaving her lips husbandly used, as his part and nip at her shoulder, tiny little love bite.

Gwen pushes at his head with a moan, sees his eyes fix on hers. “I can’t delay any more.”

It’s like a solemn confession. She nods her head, kissing his lips one more time and then resting her hands upon his naked shoulders.

These are their shared chambers. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It hasn’t been for many other rulers that she knows of. When this marriage started, according to tradition, he had a separate room made up for her. However, the first night they slept together. There has only been one night, during the times he is in Camelot, that they have slept apart.

It was after a fervent disagreement on his duty. That night, not letting the argument get too heated, she went to her room, leaving him alone to think. The next morning, after the sun started to find the sky and light it, they talked and made up privately, within these shared chambers.

If she’s dressing for an occasion or whatnot she goes back to her own room where most her clothing is, but her nightgown is in the wardrobe she shares with him and so are a few of her dresses and robe. This is their combined room, where the intimacies of marriage are kept secret. This is where they share their love, and where she wants to hold to him tightly now.

But she will not for she respects who he is. More than three years ago passage through Annis’s lands would not be so simple, unheard of really. The alliances they have built together though will afford him that now, thankfully. She doubts strongly that Annis will turn him away. The bond has been created.

Still her heart holds little prickles of worry and she can see in his eyes that he feels it. “I-

She shakes her head, presses her fingers against his lips as her other hand caresses his exposed chest. “No. My love. Tell me when you come back.”

He smiles affectionately, finding her naked heart, pressing his own fingers tenderly there. He kisses her one more time, his mouth drinking in all she is. All he adores.

And she smiles bravely when he is done.

When he departs the room to ready himself more.

You'd think she would have gotten used to this already. Be sure that after his departure she will rule the kingdom with her total concentration upon the land. She will not weakly yearn for her husband to return. She has a role to fulfill in his absence and she always fulfills it entirely. Robustly.

However in the quiet moments of dining, in the intimate moments of laying down in their bed, finding one of his tunics and pulling it over her cold body to feel his warm presence, to smell his masculine scent, her heart will quake for his return.

Her king.

The man she loves.

Arthur Pendragon.  
~~~

 


	2. Departure

__**Author’s Note** This was pure speculation after what we got in 5.01 and 5.02. I focus on Arthur’s wounds/exposure to the cold. He had to still be physically affected after his exposure to the snow and Morgana wounding him. This is a possible missing scene from 5.02 before the knighting ceremony. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

**Shared Chambers: _Shield_**

He lifted away his tunic and she saw it vividly for the first time, just how bruised and mangled his body was from going after his men. Gwen sighed at it heavily, reaching her husband’s side as he gave a small grunt of pain.

“Arthur.”

He leaned into her. He couldn’t act this way much of the time that they were escaping from Morgana’s fortress. He had to be as strong as possible there, come to his sense and remind his brothers in arms that his servant still needed saving. Only when he was assured that Merlin too was safe, although just as banged up by Morgana’s dark magic, Arthur could let out a breath of satisfaction. Of course then they had to make the arduous journey home through the snow flooded mountains.

Some of the men they found there had come back with them to Camelot. If they could prove their worth Arthur intended to knight them. One in particular. 

As his wife’s hands gently, but intimately slid over the purple mottling bruises, he closed his eyes and inquired, “Sefa betrayed us then?”

It was a simple question with no simple answer. Gwen shook her head, caressing her husband’s face to get him to open his eyes and look. As he did, she helped him to sit upon the bed, grasping the pillows from behind. Getting them into place she coaxed him to their comfort. Salve and bandages during the trek had been used for the knife wounds, but Gaius said the bruises needed to heal. Arthur, like Merlin and Gwaine, would have to endure a bit of discomfort before they stopped plaguing so much. 

“She did not want to. She made that clear. She did it for Ruadan, her father.”

“Who nearly killed me and the rest of my men.”

Gwen’s lips pursed as Arthur’s back pushed gingerly against the pillows. In her nightgown, she shook her head once more. “Well he is dead now.”

“And Sefa?”

Gwen’s face wrinkled with discontent. Although the plan had given her what Camelot would need, she felt no real joy from it. “I don’t know. She must have fled. She is a smart girl, although a bit naïve. I’m sure she’s taken refuge.”

Arthur gave a bothered sigh. “Well her father did wrong. Deserved to die. No good can come from magic.”

Gwen faced her husband pointedly, seeing his eyes tiredly shutting. She couldn’t let him sleep yet though. This matter needed to be dealt with, especially after what she and Gaius found upon Ruadan’s body. “You did not think that when you wanted to heal your father years ago.”

Sure enough his eyes starkly opened. Arthur stared at his wife. “You throw that at me? That was an entirely different situation.”

Gwen’s lips fixed. “How? How was it so different?”

“Guinevere.” Arthur gritted out through his teeth. “My father was the king of this land. He was a good-

She looked at him strongly. Arthur now knew about the time his father slapped her face. He had seen his father judge others wrongly too. And he agreed with her that her father never should have been sentenced to death. 

“Well there’s no comparison.” He told her stubbornly. 

Gwen let out a patient sigh, leaning forward to kiss her husband’s lips, still chapped from the icy temperatures he had endured, rough against her soft ones. And yet she loved them. Like him. “I don’t mean to start up a quarrel about your father.” She told him afterward, fingers stroking his chest comfortingly. “But why must we start up one about hers? Sefa meant well. I know she did. She loved her father. Maybe he was misguided, but can you honestly say yours never was?”

“And yours?”

Gwen sighed. Uther had done horrible things, but nevertheless he was Arthur’s father and he had loved his son. Her father, although never cruel, had made more than a few brash decisions. “Okay. He endeavored into things he shouldn’t have. Too overzealous. I admit.”

She ended her point with gentle reprimand. “Just temper your judgment my husband.”

He smiled a bit, feeling the ease from her caressing fingers and her calm words. It was rare for Guinevere to get too passionate. It was why he relied so much upon her council. “I don’t know if we can completely agree upon this. But I do know one thing. When all of the hard decisions had to be made, you made every single one with such strength of character. Camelot and I owe you much gratitude Guinevere.”

She dismissed the praise silently, lying her body down gingerly upon one of the rare areas where her husband was not so hurt. Tenderly, she fingered his skin, the fine chest hairs. “I’ve missed you.” 

He kissed the side of her face, holding tightly to the back of her nightgown. “And I you.”

A she closed her eyes, finally relaxing, he said it.

“I’m grateful to be back here with you. So grateful to one person who made sure that would happen. I’m thinking of making him a knight.”

Her eyes flew open. “What?”

Arthur smiled. “Mordred. He saved my life Guinevere. And Merlin’s. Morgana, she would have-

Gwen’s brow wrinkled as she sat up, back straight.

“What is it?”

Not hearing his question, Gwen wondered why it hadn’t clicked together before. Now that it did, she felt a shudder ripple through her body.

“Guinevere?” Arthur started to reach out to her, but seeing the bandages stress at his movement, she pressed her palm firmly, and yet cautiously against his chest. 

“No. Stay still.”

“Oh.” He groaned with discontent, wanting to know what was making her face look so full of thought now. “Guinevere.”

Should she tell him? Their marriage had been based on trust since it began. They vowed after all that happened around the banishment they would always be forthcoming with each other. 

“Do you remember how Mordred first came to Camelot?”

Arthur gave a nod of his head, not moving anymore, knowing she wouldn’t approve. And wearied enough, still getting over some of the pain that keeping in one place wasn’t too hard. “He came with that Druid man, his name er…”

“Cerdan.” Gwen filled in, remembering sharply her mistress’s concern for the boy, how she was willing to tarnish her relationship with Uther then. “After his execution, when Mordred was injured, Morgana was wild to help him. Arthur, I’ve never seen her like that. She told me they shared a bond. I saw it. That bond was so strong it eclipsed the one she had with Uther then.”

“Morgana tried to kill my father, Guinevere.”

She spoke to him patiently, leaning against the pillow some, hearing him grunt in discomfort and so her hand moved to massage his shoulder. “Yes. I know. But that was years later. After Mordred’s arrival, even when she was not sure of his name she was so transfixed by him. Arthur…” She emphasized strongly now. “A bond.”

His eyes feeling sort of heavy, her massaging putting him to rest, he felt her fingers stall now. Getting it suddenly, he opened his eyes. “You think Mordred has magic?”

Gwen held still.

Arthur shook his head fervently. “No. Guinevere that’s impossible. If he had magic he would have used it to come after me and Merlin in the snow. To fight off Morgana in the caverns below. He saved my life. I didn’t see it that clearly, but Merlin did. Mordred stabbed her. I don’t think he killed her, but he hurt her with the knife, like she was hurting me. But when he did it the knife wasn’t floating in the air. Mordred did it with his hands. Merlin told me. Am I supposed to think he lied?”

Gwen pressed her fingers against his shoulder comfortingly. “Of course not. That’s not what I’m saying. It’s possible Mordred does not have the same ability as Morgana. Maybe he doesn’t know magic like her. He was only a boy when his guardian was executed. But Arthur, she shared a bond with him. I saw it so vividly. She would take any risk for him. Any.”

Arthur thought about it, remembering. “You’re right. But he broke that bond when he left her for dead. He left her there Guinevere after stabbing her.”

Forehead furrowing, Gwen asked. “Or did he? Could it have been a ruse like I used for Sefa to get her father to come to Camelot? I mean my hand would have been forced if he didn’t come, but I knew he would. Perhaps Mordred and Morgana simply wanted you to believe that one of them was on your side.”

His head hitting the pillow, Arthur shut his eyes tight. Their kingdom had been full of peace for so long and now…this. “I have no quarrel with Mordred or any of the Druid people.”

She held still, her hand once against ceasing movement over his shoulder. Gwen looked to the fire in the hearth, feeling Arthur’s eyes open and narrowing in upon her profile.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” He asked wearily.

She hadn’t wanted to tell him this, hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but she took the news with analysis then and she would deliver it with the same strength of mind. “Ruadan had a special kind of note, a prayer really, a Druid one. Gaius was able to read it. The words told of the desire to end the life of the King of Camelot.” 

She swallowed hard, before whispering, “Your life Arthur. They believe that like your father, they can never have peace with you. So there is supposed to be one Druid who will fulfill that…prayer or prophecy. What if that is Mordred?”

“Oh Heaven’s mercy.” Arthur’s head fell as he remembered the hatred in Morgana’s eyes. In his uncle’s eyes years ago. Family. And they hated him. Hated Camelot. Hated peace.

Gwen scooted in closer in response to his distress, clasping his cheeks with her hands. “Arthur.”

“I don’t hate Morgana. I didn’t hate Agravaine. I have only wanted a kingdom where everyone is treated fairly. Just. And yet _they_ hate me so much. Why?”

Gwen sighed in consolation. She knew his heart was so full, sometimes so much more trusting than hers. After Morgana’s enchantment her mind had no choice but to grow shrewder. Although she still had compassion and kindness in her, Gwen was definitely more careful now. 

She moved her fingers through her husband’s hair, feeling at his forehead, just a tad feverish, after what he had endured. She’d keep a careful eye on him in the night.

“It is not you. It is what you stand in front of. It was the same with me. They want what you have. Morgana. Agravaine then. But the Druids.”

“What?” He asked her strongly.

She let out a long sigh. “Arthur. Sefa was only doing her father’s bidding. I could see her fear for her life and her love for her father. She was a good girl. He could not have been that much of a bad man. Maybe not at first anyway. It is true, we have done nothing to harm the Druids, but we also have not helped them.”

His eyes were hard. “My father banned magic years ago Guinevere. I didn’t always agree with him, but I have seen its evils too. The law must stand.”

“I know.” Gwen sighed. “My father was executed for the suspicion of magic. But we cannot be complacent then. We cannot just assume everyone will abide by our rule willingly. And we cannot let a young man into this kingdom openly who was associated with the woman who has become one of our greatest foes. We cannot, Arthur.”

“So you’re saying I don’t knight him? Send him away?”

Gwen pondered on those words for a moment before giving a firm shake of her head. “No. You should knight him.”

“What?” He asked her incredulously.

Gwen continued. “Arthur, if he is in alliance with Morgana, what better place to expose that than Camelot? Within the castle’s walls Mordred wouldn’t be able to move so freely. We could keep an eye on him.”

“So we tell Gaius and-

She lifted her hand. “No. I don’t think we should even tell the knights. Not yet. Not until there is any proof of this.”

His hand lifted some, finding her waist, lingering on the material of her nightgown. “And what if there is no proof?”

Gwen smiled softly. “Then Camelot has a respected new knight. See Arthur, if we tell no one…”

He smiled a little too now finally. Even though so much of this was troubling, it helped to have a sharp wife to go over these crucial matters with. “Then no one will be the wiser. If there is no deception, we won’t have to explain why we ever thought there was.”

“Exactly.” She leaned down to kiss those chapped lips. Yearning upward, he kissed her back, tangling his fingers into his wife’s hair. His kiss grew more fervent, but then his muscles strained, his injured areas cried out complaint. He grunted away. Hearing it Gwen gave a sympathetic look and brought her fingers over his chest. Then she kissed his still slightly feverish brow. “You’re tired.” She whispered.

He only nodded his head, closing his eyes.

Gwen’s look was one of mild concern. She would never completely get used to him being away for long periods, coming back with a collection of new scars. He was a warrior king, but sometimes he faced so much danger.

Even at home. 

“Go to sleep my husband.” She whispered against his cheek.

“Hmmm…”He murmured, gathering her nightgown’s material within his fingers greedily. “You with me.”

She lowered her head to his shoulder, feeling his hand still holding her close. Hearing his breaths come a little slower. Feeling his heartbeat reaching a pattern of rest. Her hand rose a little each time it showed its life. 

She waited until his soft snores came and then moved to the bed’s side, taking something out from a trinket box atop the nearby table. Running her fingers over the strange language, she let out a troubled sigh. The prayer was for the King to die at the hand of a Druid. Was it Mordred?

Gwen shook her head. She did not know. Whoever it was, she would do all she could to protect the kingdom and her husband. 

She let the prayer fall out of her hands, back to the trinket box, closing it tight. Then she moved closer on the bed to Arthur, resting her cheek upon one of those less wounded areas again, feeling his forehead, a bit damp, but less warm. Thank goodness. “I will never let anyone hurt you Arthur.” She whispered solemnly, kissing his chest. “As together we protect Camelot…you protect me…

I will shield you.”

But the time of peace in Camelot was coming to its uneasy end. With Ruadan’s death. With Mordred’s return. With Morgana’s madness. With the bloody past of bygone days.

As the ghost began to stalk

As Arthur’s bane began to rise.

^*^  



	3. Conviction

_ _

**Conviction Note** This was a possible missing scene after Arthur blew the horn in 5.03.

~~~~~~~~~~~

**Shared Chambers: _Conviction_**

She was his wife. That’s why he went to Gaius and got the permission finally to bring her to their shared chambers, the rooms that they dwelled in together, privately, intimately. That was why now he carried her in his arms. One hand gripped underneath her legs, feeling where her thigh started, not at all embarrassed by its feel. Not so boyish he was turned on beyond mature proportion. No. His hand simply grazed it with light possession. For she was his wife. His other hand pressed into her back, his fingers curving inward to keep her tightly and gently in his grasp.

It was a day since he blew the horn, pushed his father back into the netherworld, away from his broken heart. He missed him so greatly sometimes. But he learned something during his father’s stalking of the castle.

If he lost her…

He’d miss her even more.

He pressed a kiss against her neck, lowered her slowly and softly to their shared bed. Then stroking the material of her dress, he frowned slightly. “No need for you to be in this anymore.”

Making sure her head was resting upon the pillows, Arthur moved away from the bed. Going to the wardrobe, it took him little time to find where her nightgown was placed. Returning with it in hand, he sat down upon the corner, hands going around her waist, lifting carefully. She was sleeping so heavily because of the draught Gaius gave her. Although she had woken hours earlier while she was still in Gaius’s care, she hadn’t spoken much, dazed by the events.

Merlin told him that he found her upon the floor. Lying still. A fire blazing around her fallen body.

Arthur’s body shivered. His breath choked some. How could his father do this? To the woman he loved?

Oh, he was no fool. He knew his father did horrible things, cruel terrible things. But if the spirit of him could see all he did to rule Camelot in his own way, he must have also seen how his son found love and was happy. Guinevere made him feel excited and at the same, at peace, and yet his father tried to kill her. It made so little sense. The only understanding he got from it was that he had to get rid of the ghost.

Finding the hooks on her dress now and undoing them one by one with the ease of a man who knew his wife’s ware, who had undressed her before, Arthur brought it down her waist, away from her body. Underneath of course were the bindings women wore to make themselves even more beautiful than they were without.

Now Guinevere didn’t need much help. She had the finest constitution of sensuous dips and curvature. He could see it all nakedly as he got the last of the inner clothing away. But now with her sleeping in his arms he just rushed to get her nightgown on. To keep her warm and comfortable. When that was done, when she was fully covered, he lay down beside her, blowing out the candles of light that were nearby.

His father thought she was nothing more than a servant girl. Disposable. How many times had his father shown that to him? No matter if she was lost or captured. They’d get another. Like she was the dress he just got her out of. Like she was clothing, not flesh and blood. It made Arthur shirk to think about. It was over three years ago he married her. And then everything was so new, kind of shaky after he banished her weeks ago. They were still finding their way through all their heavy hot stirrings of love.

She was adjusting his mother’s crown with a look of wonder and maybe even fear.

He found her like that, here, in their shared chambers. He’d been looking for her from place to place after the ceremony was over of her coronation.

_“Guinevere.” Arthur wrapped his hands around her waist from behind, feeling how his cloak brushed against his arms as he did so. His new wife gazed at their reflections in the mirror with what seemed a bit of nervousness and tension._

_“What is it?” He asked._

_She fingered the crown more, and then simply removed it from her head, turning to her new husband. “You said this was your mother’s?”_

_Fondly running his fingers through her curls, thinking she looked beautiful in her lavender and golden dress, Arthur nodded. “Yes. Wore it when she married my father.”_

_Guinevere gave a heavy sigh to that making Arthur ask with concern, “What? What did I say?”_

_She shook her head, pressing in against the chainmail covering his chest. He still needed to take it off. “Your father never would have approved of this marriage.”_

_To that Arthur moved away to face her and get them away from the mirror’s reflection. “What?”_

_“You know it’s true. You marrying a servant girl? Uther never would have liked that.”_

_He lifted his head, wanting to deny what she was saying, but as his eyes took in the grooves of the ceiling his mind hissed that she was right. And yet, this was his decision, and his wife’s._

_“My father was just too blinded by the old ways. He couldn’t see that he was alienating too many. I don’t want Camelot like that. I don’t want a political marriage or to rule alone. I want you by my side. And that is why I placed upon your head this crown.”_

_He fingered it delicately. “Because my mother loved my father and I know he did feel the same for her too. Yes, he had an affair, we obviously know now. It brought Morgana to this world. But I know he loved my mother too. I know he had to mean much to her. I just…I feel that has to be the truth._

_“But he would not have approved of this, of me. You know that’s true.”_

_Arthur’s look was troubled with perhaps some belief, but then conviction quickly replaced it. This was his decision, not his father’s._

_He lifted the crown, placing it back upon his wife’s head, turning her slowly, getting her to focus upon her reflection, and his behind her. “I know that you are the only Queen I’ve ever desired. I don’t want it to be about political alliance. I want a partner, someone who listens to me, and who tells me what I need to hear. You’ve done that with me Guinevere from the beginning.”_

_He rounded her waist with his hands again, gently touched her cheek with his lips. “I love you. I know much has happened in the past weeks that we probably still need to deal with rightly, but I don’t care to do this alone. I care to do it with my wife by my side. You are my one true Queen, Guinevere. You are now Camelot’s.”_

_She turned to him, tears at her lids. “And your father?”_

_He shook his head. “He did not know you well enough. That’s all.”_

_His lips found hers in a drizzle of passion. Hers answered his. Hands touched face, found material. Clenched tight. As they pressed into each other. He removed the crown from her head, put it firmly down upon the wardrobe’s shelf and backed with her to the bed. Their bed now. Adorned for the occasion with petals of roses and wildflowers. For years he had desired to be with her like this. It was so hard building in him, his fervor of feeling, he had to temper it, reminding himself that his wife would always be his partner, that she deserved his patience._

_But when he indeed tempered it down she clutched his cheeks, her nails just faintly scraping, giving him pain and pleasure of shivers._

_“Don’t slow down.”_

_“But-_

_Her precious fingertips pressed over his mouth. The fever was in her dark eyes. “I have waited to be with you like this for so long. In the woods I thought I’d never see you again.”_

_As her voice broke, he clutched her to him, feeling her breasts push against his chest. The chainmail felt hot and awkward. He pointed to it pleadingly and felt her fingers finally release it from his body._

_He got up on the bed, pulling her with him, sitting her down in front of him. He grasped some of the petals in his fingers, rained them down upon her body, watching as one caught at where her dress met her chest. He pressed his fingers against it intimately, feeling her responding shudder. As he whispered, “I’m sorry.”_

_No need to tell her why. No need to state anymore about the past weeks. She just nodded, holding his chin, her fingertips carving into his skin their love. This was how their marriage would start. With quiet forgiveness. With fervently built passion that had been suppressed for far too long. Now here in their shared chambers they could release it all. Succumb to the wonder and complexity of each other._

_Moments to disrobe, to discover each other’s bodies. Her fingers explored his muscle, squeezed and frolicked. He felt his breath quicken, his hands wanting to venture just as much. It took him years to realize that the pretty princesses who tried to gain his heart were not enough. Something was always missing._

_But when he realized that was her, a handmaiden, not a princess, but a woman of such conviction, such excitement because she wasn’t easy to predict, he saw all her hidden beauties. He saw them come out more and more as she gained physical confidence, as she became a truly amazing woman._

_But now, bared to him, it was even more prevalent. Sitting upon the bed, surrounded by colorful petals, he could see it. Feel it. His fingers found the flat plane of her stomach. Advanced to her ribs, feeling the bone’s soft yet unyielding pressure for she was not so thin that it took over her body. And then her breasts. Full. Round. Reacting to his first touch. Giving to his hands. To his wandering fingers._

_He knew in that moment more than ever his choice was sound. Sexually, gratifyingly they’d share this bed. But it went beyond to love…_

_As his fingers found her point of pleasure, as her thighs wrapped him in moments later, as they thrust and rocked together into the most intimate dance he’d ever been part of, a joined battle of carnal beauty, he knew as hard as it had been, the wait had been worth it…_

_Finally, in a rush of capitulation, of frenzied almost messy, painful, pleasurable explosion, he gathered it all together solidly. It didn’t matter who might disagree with this decision. Their outside beliefs made no sense to him. He loved her so much more now than ever before._

_More than he could ever express in words._

_Only the truest most veracity of expression could be here. In shared chambers._

“Mmmm…”

Arthur let the memory drift away rapidly of their first night as husband and wife. She seemed to be waking. He pushed his elbow into the mattress, waiting impatiently, and head up.

“Guin-

“Mmm…”

Her eyes slowly opened and she focused on him, making Arthur’s smile ring out.

“Arthur?”

“Yes.” He breathed fast, relieved. Gaius said she would make a full recovery, but it felt so much better to have her fully awake in their bed, to see her eyes finally alert and responding.

“Mmmm…” She felt her head with a frown. There was a slight bump there from her hitting the floor or being hit by something. He wasn’t clear on that, just knew his father inflicted it.

He reached forward, touching her head gingerly. “You hit it. Or something hit it.”

She looked at him questioningly.

Arthur gave out a troubled sigh. “I’ve been keeping something from you. For more than a few days. I’ve-

He faltered, feeling her fingers touch at his temple, seeing her frown upon her face. “What do you mean? Why do you seem so troubled? Why do I not remember coming here? The last days-

He cut her off gently, pressing his hand against her breast. “Because you’ve been in Gaius’s care for some days now. You were attacked in the hallways…by my father’s ghost.”

Her eyes widened, her breath clutching some as she started to slowly, hazily remember. Gaius said that might still be a bit of a side effect and to keep a close eye on it in the night. If her breathing altered too drastically, send for him right away. So far, thankfully, nothing. And Gaius said it probably wouldn’t happen, but it didn’t keep Arthur from worrying.

“The hallways…something dragged me. Things were falling and I…there was this presence…it…”

“Shhh…” He whispered gently and finally confessed it. “That was him. My father. His ghost. You see…I released it.”

He told her about the elderly magical woman and the horn. He told her how he used it to summon his father. And he told her how he looked back when he shouldn’t have.

When he was done with that part, he saw his wife’s frown. “Gaius should have told you of that danger.”

“I think he forgot to.”

“Not a good enough excuse.” Gwen told him plainly and he smiled softly. It was like her to not allow neglect to be passed by so easily.

“Well…he is getting older and he helped us return my father to the spirit world.” He told her about that part now, and he told her he was sorry he summoned his father in the first place, that he kept everything from her.

“Why did you keep it from me?” Gwen asked sharply.

Arthur shook his head. “I knew you’d probably not agree with it. Or be concerned about me. You know better than anyone what the anniversary of his death means to me. Guinevere, I just wanted one more chance to see him, but I swear if I knew it would put you in danger, that it-

Gently, she cut him off, pressing her hand over his lips, simply asking, “And now? Do you still covet that chance? You used the horn. You shut away his spirit. Do you regret that at all?”

It barely took him a second to start shaking his head. “No. My father made too many mistakes. Ruled by fear and hatred more than love and strength. I’m not perfect. I’m still finding my way with your guidance in this, but I believe in what we’ve set up together. Peace is not weakness. It bolsters the kingdom. I love you and I love my life now. I know my father loved me, but he had a very hard time of showing it and he ruled by fear. I miss him. I know he did cruel things. But I miss him.

And yet, he is not good for this kingdom anymore. I told him. He had his turn. Now it’s mine. I am King. And you’re my Queen. I regret nothing.”

She smiled softly, sadly, her dark long curls shadowing her face in the dim light of the glowing hearth. “You rule with conviction then, yes?”

He looked at her questioningly, feeling her hand press against his waist, climb up and linger on his chest. “With belief, Arthur? In us. In what Camelot is now. In what we confide and experience here in our shared chambers. You believe in that? You hold conviction in that, yes?”

He got it now. He didn’t tell her because yes he knew she would be worried, but even more-so she might feel some disappointment, disagreement.

She was patiently telling him he could no longer look back. It wasn’t just about releasing a ghost. It was about wanting the past that was never so perfect anyway. This was their Camelot now that they ruled together over. His relationship with his knights, with his servant, with his wife, was strength, not weakness. Not living in fear of others, of superstitions was strength. Loving her…

“I hold conviction in that Guinevere. For I have you by my side. What stronger conviction could there be?”

She sighed softly at that and he kissed her, a slow trickle of passion before he stopped it, kissed her brow and lay down with her on their bed.

His bane still lingered. Not so much a ghost. More a shaking of his own uncertainties.

But it was quiet for now. Quiet as he lay with his wife. In total relief. Total gratitude.

Total conviction in their union.

Their shared life together.

It was the strength he had had over his father.

For his heart opened bravely.

While his father’s had closed up fearfully.

_This_ was Arthur’s conviction…

Peace

And

Love.


	4. Home

_ _

  
**Home Note:** This one fills in some of those A/G moments of 5.04: Another’s Sorrow.

***

The fire within the hearth was just a dim glow. The light upon the room was minimal. The bed coverings contained just a pair, the man holding the woman’s waist, the woman clasping to his hand in sleep. They slumbered close, quietly. His faint snore was one that during the years of marriage she had grown accustomed to. If it reached the annoying proportion she had a little trick of tapping his nose. It always got him to stir a bit grumpily, moving his arms around until finally he settled back down and snored just a little less loudly.

His fingers had climbed from the blankets in the night to cup her chest lightly, but possessively. It held one breast now with sleeping enjoyment. Their bodies were so close together; it would be easy to feel his leg, her thigh, his manhood, at ease for now, her toes pressed against his ankles. They knew each other nakedly. They knew each other profoundly. Many conversations were shared here. Many stirrings of passion.

But now. Just sleep. Quiet eased slumber, until the noise, until the stirrings below wakened one.

“What is that?” Arthur lifted his head, the sleepiness drifting quite rapidly. He felt his wife’s breast at the cup of his hand. Unintentionally he squeezed with reaction to the noise. It took her only moments to be awake too, her own hand coming down upon his, feeling him there, but even more-so feeling his alarm.

“It sounds like it’s from downstairs.”

He released her and made his way determinedly to the window, seeing a flurry of activity on the steps below. “I need to find out what’s going on.” He started to head to the door, but then she was up, her hands encircling and pressing firmly upon his chest. “Arthur, you are not dressed enough.”

He looked down, giving a roll of his eyes self-deprecatingly and then turning back, “Neither are you.”

She wasn’t. Earlier he had a trying day. She surprised him by being in bed already when he came in, wearing nothing but his blue tunic. So now he only wore a thin feeble pair of breeches. Needless to say, they had gotten into some marital physical exertions earlier.

“Right. But I’m not the one who was rushing to the door.”

He gave her an acknowledging look, before rummaging around and finding them, his white tunic and pants.

“I want to see too.” She told him, helping him get the tunic down his chest. He gave her a glance over of busied appreciation. “Not like that you won’t.”

She grimaced, pressing a fast kiss against his lips. “Find out what it is. I’ll be there in a moment.”

***

It was many moments later that they were back in their chambers together. Merlin had come by earlier to tell Arthur of Mithian’s condition after he found out it was she who had come through the gates in the middle of the night. Now after changing into her nightgown, more suitable wear while Camelot had visitors, Gwen noticed how her husband was sitting at the table, quill in hand, but no writing getting done.

“You should come to bed. There’s nothing more you can do there.”

She watched as he twirled the quill in his hand mindlessly, the same as he flipped the sword often when fighting. But that of course was with brain control. “Why do you think she came? So late? I asked Merlin. He gave me no answers. I wish I could ask her. But Gaius says she needs to rest.”

Gwen knew her husband well. He sometimes could sleep like nothing would ever wake him, but other times he did this.

He sat at the table and tried to get the paperwork that usually annoyed him, done. But instead he just fiddled with the quill. Because his mind was so troubled. That it was troubled about Mithian could be thought as interesting, considering years ago he nearly married the woman.

Well, Arthur told her that was basically just a way to tell his heart to shut up. It didn’t work.

She gave a sigh, moving forward, taking the quill out of his hand and seating herself upon his lap with wifely privilege. His hands didn’t move to hold her until she pressed an intimate, somewhat noisy kiss upon his lips, affectionate puckering, sliding mouths, and then his hands were firmly on her waist.

“You’ll drive yourself mad trying to figure what this is about.” She caressed his chin and cheek with her fingers. “In the morning we will know. Alright?”

He looked up into her eyes. She could see the wonder there as he assessed her quietly, leaving his troubling thoughts for a moment. “How can you always be so calm? It’s surprised me from that time I stayed with you, until now. How much peace you have.”

One hand pressed into her back, settling over and lifting at the soft material of her nightgown. The other found her neck and moved down between her breasts, tunneling with distracted desire into the valley there.

She sighed at the warm intimate pressure, fingers latching into his golden blonde hairs. “You have the same peace. You just are not always aware of it.”

“I’m always jumping up and ready to do battle. We go through those endless hours of meeting with nobles from here and there and I’m ready to jump out the window from boredom. It’s only your hand discreetly pressing down upon my arm holding me back.”

She smiled, one hand leaving his hair to stroke at his thin white tunic, even further to his chest as she kissed his cheek, whispered against his face. “Come to bed Arthur.”

“Mmmm…” He moaned, kissing her neck sleepily. “I didn’t finish my work here.” It was a weak protest.

She clasped his hand, pulling and getting him to stand with her. “In the morning. After we talk to the Princess. Now come…”

“What if she’s in some kind of trouble?” He asked suddenly as they moved to the bed, getting her to stop.

Gwen nodded patiently, hand pressing against her husband’s chest. “We will find out in the morning. For now she is safe here in Camelot.”

He brought his head up and down in understanding, but she could feel it in his body as they lay down together, he upon his back and her curling into his side. Arthur was still worried. She felt no jealousy for it. Arthur never loved Mithian, but he liked her, cared about her.

It was what Gwen loved most about her husband, his open heart.

It was the true value a king should have she believed. His greatest love, his greatest passion was reserved just for her, here in their shared chambers and elsewhere. But that didn’t constrict his heart from being open to others in a gesture of kindness. And for that she was grateful, and so was Camelot.

***

A night later, Arthur sat at the table in his chainmail, going over the plans one more time. His wife had just asked him with concern if this was about Odin which he quickly, but patiently denied. Really it wasn’t of course. He wanted to help Mithian and her father.

Now he looked up, seeing Guinevere sitting on the corner of their bed, watching him strongly. But of course as soon as their eyes had a glimmer of connecting she looked away, like she was fussing with something else.  
Giving a sigh, Arthur walked over to her.

“You don’t believe me.”

“What?”

He stopped her from fussing with the bed coverings, taking her hand into his as he sat on the bed’s corner with her. “About Odin. You think I want revenge still, don’t you?”

She simply gave him a pensive look, bordering on disapproval. He was well accustomed to it as he nodded. “Yes…I knew it. You do.”

She said nothing still. And Arthur sighed heavily. Guinevere’s silence could rattle the nerves of the highest dignitary. She was excellent at it. “I don’t take joy in killing anyone Guinevere. I hope you know that.”

She frowned, touching his hands, the chainmail too unyielding. “I do. Arthur, take this off?”

She asked, but she wanted it off. No question. And well now he did too. “Yes. I can’t wear it all night.”

“You need sleep if you are to ride out so early.”

“I know.”

It was said that children sometimes slept with security blankets. He had one that his mother had gifted him with before he was born. Interestingly, he would find out years later, after marrying, it had been woven by his wife’s never known mother. And so now it was lovingly folded within the wardrobe.

So this, his chainmail, was sort of his security. It made him feel strong, ready to fight. And he wanted to fight now. He was hungry for it. But he meant what he told his wife too. Killing brought no joy.

It was about protection for him. It was something his heart had always contained. He never wanted friends or allies to be hurt. He desired so fervently to shield, even if it took him away from the wife he loved. Even if it played cards with his own life.

She lifted away the chainmail carefully, unbolting it. He could feel how she took cautious thought to make sure it didn’t tangle in his hair. And then she helped him remove his gambeson, until he was just in his red tunic.  
Emotionally, Arthur moved against his wife, seeking her arms and finding them wrap around him warmly. He clutched her shoulders, resting his chin. “I try to always fight for what is right. What is noble. I don’t seek vengeance.”

She caressed his hair with her fingers, holding him securely as she whispered for him to hear, “I understand that. I know you are not bloodthirsty. But you too have a past with Odin that is filled with pain for both of you. I want you to just be careful. Camelot needs its king.” She gave a trembling sigh. “I need my husband.”

“Guinevere.” Arthur pulled away from her now, seeing his wife’s rare display of vulnerability.

“I always come back to you, don’t I?” He lifted her chin firmly, but gently, to get her eyes to focus upon him.

“Yes you do. Bruised and scraped, more scars than I care to see, but you do always come back. Alive. Smiling.”

He smiled now, before pressing a passionate kiss against her lips, feeling her tongue circling his with hunger as he delved deeper. Ever so deeper, before letting go, feeling the moisture of her sweet taste still lingering against his lips as he pulled away to tell her, “And I will again. I don’t know what will happen when I face Odin. I just want you to know that this is truly about Nemeth and Mithian. Whatever quarrel I have with Odin, I will not let it take over the true purpose.”

Her lips curved, but her eyes looked not so certain.

Arthur held his wife close, thinking of her usual peace, his heart wanting to use it.

For his mind, no matter what he said, was still stoutly focused on the man he’d finally confront. The man who killed his father. The man whose son…he killed.

Odin.

***

A baby was in her arms.

Gwen cradled the child with a wondering smile. It was an interesting predicament. Lady Sandra, wife to Sir Stephen, was off visiting someone in town. Her maiden suddenly took ill. Gwen’s maiden offered to help, but then Gwen ushered her off, saying that the Lady Sandra was supposed to be back within moments. She’d tend to the baby.

Well moments turned to an hour. And now she had just finished humming the child to sleep, feeling rushes of happiness at having a baby in her arms. It took away some of the worry of having your husband away for so long, possibly in grave danger.

She peered down to look. The little infant girl, wrapped into a lovely embroidered blanket was resting at her breast and shoulder. Gwen spontaneously pressed a kiss against the child’s forehead. She and Arthur wanted children, but Gwen’s mind often resisted having one yet.

It horrified her to think of having a child with her husband battling against the consequences of him going off on these missions. If he wasn’t to return, then what would happen? What would she do with a baby that had his eyes or his hair? How would she go on?

She couldn’t fathom it and so her body seemed to put up a wall and she didn’t complain about it. As for Arthur, he never gave question. He loved her so much, he was content for them to have a child whenever the time was right.

A knock came at the door, stirring Gwen out of her thoughts. She looked down upon the sleeping babe. “Well that must be your mother. Come now.”

She moved to the door, seeing Lady Sandra there, practically spitting out apology.

“Oh my Lady. I am so sorry.” She rushed to get the baby from Gwen’s arms, but Gwen just lifted her hand patiently. “Oh now stop. No apology needed. It is not like I couldn’t have had one of the servants take her. I welcomed the chance.” She smiled down at the precious sleeping girl and then gave her back to her mother with a lingering sigh.

She watched as her mother held her reverently, stating spontaneously. “I’m sure you and the King will have your own to care for soon.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh I’m sorry for being so presump--

“Sandra.” Gwen pressed her hand against the other woman’s arm. “Enough. You are right. We will when it is time.” Gwen gave another sigh and moved away from the noble woman, standing at the window pensively.

Sandra started to excuse herself. “Well, yes then, I should go. Thank you so much-

“Do you worry for him? Do you ever fear that Stephen may not return?”

Gwen turned back now, feeling a bit of moisture in her eyes, trying to wipe at it, but it found its way down her cheek. “Do you ever, Sandra?”

The noble lady holding the baby to her breast, walked forward. “Every time he rides out.”

Gwen nodded, holding out her hands, feeling Sandra take them. She whispered, “We must all be strong for each other. I am always scared that Arthur might-

“I know. I know how you feel.” This time Sandra didn’t apologize. It was truly a shared emotion. Their husbands rode out and they never knew if-

Interruption came. The council was meeting in a few minutes. A dignitary from another land would soon be there. An issue in the citadel needed to be dealt with.

Obligations of royalty. Political needs that made her lift her hand to her face as Gwen brushed away the stray tear. But she clasped Sandra’s hands for a second longer, whispering for only her ears to hear, “Thank you. Having a child to tend to was just what my heart needed.”

Sandra smiled emotionally, whispering back, “We will celebrate when they come home.”

Gwen’s peace returned, she nodded, before Sandra left, “Yes, we will.”

She pushed the pangs of her heart backward, mind at full force. She needed to be Queen now.

She needed to always be the ruler in charge in her husband’s absence.

Temporary…

Absence. Her heart squealed.

Needing to believe.

***

Home.

Odin accepted his pledge of peace. A truce between their kingdoms now held. It was Arthur’s endeavor to continue it, building up alliances, building up Camelot to always be safe, always have a net.

Mithian was with her father who would heal so that they could rule Nemeth securely again. Everything was in place. So now, he shrugged off his clothing after Merlin assisted him with getting his armor off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and waited for his servant to finish getting the water prepared.

When Merlin told him it was ready, both he and servant turned as someone new walked into the room. Arthur watched her with scrutinizing eyes. She was wearing one of his favorite dresses. He didn’t even bother choosing just one. The woman could be wearing a shapeless sheet and make not only his heart stir, but other important body elements.

Now she was in blue satin that plunged at her necklines to reveal a tasteful hint of her full luscious breasts. It locked in her waist to accent everything that was free of the golden blue hanging belt. She in it, stirred his loins feverishly.

Merlin, who usually needed a brick’s force of a clue, seemed to have it now gratefully, because he looked from him to her with a sheepish smile upon his face.

Arthur paid him little heed, taking in his wife’s beauty as she no doubt was taking him in, with nothing but his towel on.

Sometimes the hardest parts of leaving Camelot were the nights. For years he had grown accustomed to sleeping alone. Now he was selfishly blessed to have her by his side every night he was at home. It made the ground feel harder when his bedroom was the wood. It made the peace of nature loud when he yearned for her soft breath’s lullaby. And even with all his men around, Merlin somewhere nearby, it made him lonely. Missing love and more.

“Well. Guess I’ll be going then. Er, my Lady.”

Arthur, his eyes still heavily on her, watched as Guinevere acknowledged his servant with a friendly smile, telling him, “Thank you Merlin. For tending to Arthur’s bath. I think I shall now assist.”

Merlin grinned knowingly. Arthur could feel it directed right at him, but clearing his throat loudly, he chose to ignore it.

“Well then I’ll leave you two…”

Arthur rolled his eyes. No doubt Merlin was still gauging for reaction. He wasn’t going to get any.

“Alone.”

“Thank you Merlin.”

He could hear his wife’s patient response. Arthur was looking around, getting ready to throw something if Merlin didn’t stop hinting at that he got the hint, but stubbornly stayed put. Or stupidly. Either could be the case with Merlin.

“Alright…Gwen…Arthur…”

Still Arthur said nothing, although his hand was fisting. Merlin often went back and forth with it, addressing them regally and then just calling them by name. Honestly he didn’t really care. “Merlin.”

“Bye.”

Just that one low throated warning was all it took. Merlin fully excused himself finally.

Alone, Arthur took in his wife’s smile as she made her way over, assessing his current ware, or lack thereof. “I approve.” She whispered, bringing her hands over his shoulders.

“Do you?” He asked teasingly.

She nodded her head slowly. “Yes. As handsome you are in all your armor, you are even more handsome with it off.”

He latched onto her waist, fingers gathering and clutching the vibrant blue satin. Quickly she was up against him, her full breasts pushed up against his naked chest. She let out an excited gasp as he brought his head down to hers.

They had returned during the daylight hours, his first time seeing his wife in the presence of everyone. So all he could do was kiss her longingly, feeling her hold so fervent and then let go. Next it was just some handholding in the halls and as meaningful as that was, sharing personal space was much better.

He heard her answering moan as he didn’t just kiss her, but pressed his mouth hotly, achingly against hers. After days and nights in the wood he was thirsting for her sweet moist taste. He wanted that feel where his heart beat faster and his body throbbed. Another kiss soon after, he pressed it on so far that he had her against the wall.

She looked up at him with pangs of desire, stroking his chest. “Arthur.”

He told her truthfully, “When Odin threatened my life, knowing Morgana was behind it, I knew I had to surrender. I hated it, but we were outnumbered, her power greater. I knew my knights would avenge my life. I knew Camelot would be ruled properly with you strongly at the stead, Merlin in his own silly way assisting, but still…I couldn’t imagine dying and never seeing you again.”

“Don’t.” He felt her hands push against his lips, silencing him. “No more.”

Her fingers were on the towel, untying it, letting it fall. And then her hands…

“Oh…” Arthur moaned. Her fingers on his chest. Between his legs. He gestured to the bath feelingly. “Join me.”

She said nothing, her hands still on his body. He let out a sigh of determination, grasping the material of her dress, whispering hotly into her ear, “Turn.”

“Oh.” She breathed and heeded. Arthur lifted his hands. Pulled apart the hooks. Got them all done and then gathering the material with a strong grip, pulled it down to her waist. Just some bustling. He got that past too. Pushing it away impatiently and then…

Heard his wife’s fervent reaction as her head came back against his shoulder. He encircled her body, cupped her breasts and gave a short squeeze.

“Arthur.”

“Come.” He kept hold of one, his other hand holding tightly to her waist. At the bath, he finished lowering her dress, all the rest of her attire and when she was wearing nothing, her body glowing softly from the trickle of lowering sunlight that had found its way through the curtain’s tiny gap, he gently pushed her forward. She sat down in the bath and he sat down too, behind her. He lifted her chin, kissed her passionately, and then after opening his eyes, gave a giggle.

“What?” She asked.

“There’s no soap in here.”

“Are you sure about that?” She teased, trailing a finger down his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh I think I can find something…sudsy.” Her finger lowered, fondled between his legs. “And hard enough definitely.”

He groaned, squeezing her waist. “Trust me. I’m a man of throbbing excitement right now.”

She grinned at that. He then stated dryly. “But I’m also a man craving a bath. I’m a bit dirty, understand?

“Bad job.” She grimaced.

“Yeah.” He stated. Then before he could say anything else, her hands were off his body. She was carefully escaping the bathtub, and looking around the room. She looked from one side to the other and as she did her curls of hair were not the only thing bouncing around. He stared at their jiggles of plumpness.

“Do you see it Arthur?”

“Eh?”

She fisted her hands at her waist, which was more erotic than menacing when she was fully unclothed. “Are you even looking?”

“Intently.”

She lowered her eyes to her breasts before giving a huff of annoyance. “Arthur!”

“Well I don’t know where it is.” He complained, finally looking to her face. “Merlin brought it in. Blame him. Find him.” She started to go straight to the door.

Arthur gaped, yelling out anxiously, “Not like _THAT!_ ”

She giggled, giving him a teasing look. “Oh you are too gullible at times.”

She shivered suddenly, holding her body. “And I am getting cold. You see it nowhere?”

He searched more strongly, seeing a bucket a few paces away from where she was standing. “There. That’s it I bet.”

It was. She brought the bucket with the soap over and carefully stepped back into the tub. Arthur moved fully against its edge to give her room to sit down. Then when she was, he frowned. “Goosebumps.”

“I told you I was getting cold.”

He stroked her shivering skin.

“I must warm you up.”

“Yes, but first your bath. Now relax.”

He did against the bath’s edge, feeling the sudsy cloth being lowered to his chest. Over his dirtied arms. Circling his waist. Scrubbing at his ankles and knees.

“Ah.”

He let out a gasp of pain, pushing her hand away.

Her head lowered, her hand carefully bringing it out of the water. He knew when she fully saw the bruise.

“How?”

“Odin’s men. Forced me to my knees. I hit one too hard. Hurt. Hurts still now some.”

She looked unhappy at that, her hand stopping its ministrations. Arthur let out a sigh, touching and grasping one of her curls. “Guinevere.”

“You could have been killed.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “I wasn’t.”

“You could have been.”

He gripped her waist, brought her down against his chest. Murmured in her hair. _“I wasn’t.”_

She held him tightly for a long time. He brought his chin over her head, looking forward, saying nothing. His words wouldn’t comfort her now.

She probably would have in some ways had an easier life if she married a farmer. At least she wouldn’t have to fear for his life so much.

Oh they had the spoils of royalty in the castles, servants to serve them, but they too had to serve Camelot, and that meant he couldn’t just be king. He had to be warrior too. Sometimes he loved it. Other times, now that he was married, he simply prayed to return home to his wife.

Slowly her hand started moving again. The cloth crept up his legs and in between. He grasped her waist, whispering a hiss of emotion. “I need you. Now.”

“I need you the same.” She told him back.

He smiled softly, and grasping her waist found the other side of the tub. He pushed her up and back against it. His hands found her legs. Spread them at the thighs. Her feet were braced on the tub’s bottom, but still he had to ask, “Alright?”

She simply nodded her head, and he grasped the cloth, brought the soapy suds over her body. Washed them off. And then with her wet, with her clean and him clean, he tongued his way down her chest. Caressed her breasts. Fingered her nipples. Feeling her legs bounce against him with reaction. Her hand found his hardness and held it, stroked it ever so lightly.

“I love you.” She whispered against his hair. And he nodded, telling her the same. Her fingers got him hard, alert. His moved between her thighs. Rubbed. Teased. They slid in. Wet all her body. Wet even more her intimate opening. He gently pushed away her ministrations. Settled himself between her thighs, making sure his body’s weight was not forcing her down.

And then, he pressed forward. Felt the walls of her womanhood enveloping him, inviting him in. She clutched his back, her fingers driving down it with the intensity of emotion that his entering her brought. He pushed in more and then…

“Arthur…” She murmured. One hand was at her waist, keeping their positions in place. The other was at the tub’s edge, gripping some of her hair. Moving inside, pulling out, the water of the bath waving with their exertion, rippling over their increasingly heated bodies. He kept his eyes on her. Every time she deigned to look away, tried to close hers, he shook his head, grasping a little too tightly to her curls. “No. Guinevere, watch us. Watch your husband.”

“Oh.” She did, pulling him in tighter against her, scraping at his back with her zenith of need. “Arthur. Never leave me.”

“ _Never_ …” He echoed back, his thrusts a little faster. Deeper. Holding her in place. Held in place in kind by her fingers squeezing the skin of his back. He not letting her go. She not letting him go.

He missed her so much when he had to go away. Missed her voice, soft and low, but so full of authority. Missed her touch, always loving, giving. Missed the feel of this. Love intensely made. His manhood full of life, throbbing inside her.

And climax just on…

“Oh.”

The brink. The water splashed out of the tub as she forced her lips against his shoulder to keep from crying out and he grunted it all down, his own reaction.

And when it was done, her wet against him, his manhood a passionate trickle within her, he peered over the bath’s edge. Saw that they had spilled out quite a bit of soapy water.

“We made a mess.”

She laughed softly at that, even more as he muttered,

“I’ll get Merlin to clean it up.”

She questioned dryly, “After you explain to him how all that water got out of the bathtub?”

He changed his mind rapidly. “You’re right. I’ll clean it myself.”

She laughed some more, holding his damp head against her shoulder and breast. “I’ll help you.”

His teeth bit down lightly, his lips smoothing over the affected area afterward. “Mmm…home.”

He could feel her holding tightly, agreeing completely.

Together. In each other’s arms. Nakedly. Openly. Skin touching, caressing, fondling skin. Lips parted for the other pair of lips. Eyes closed, held in forever peace.

Love, rippling, swirling, overflowing like the water of their passionate bath.

All of it, entwined, loved and nothing more, nothing less

That they were.

Here in shared chambers

Here in their most intimate…private

Home.  



	5. Completion

_ _

**Completion Note** The episode,5.05, had wonderful A/G scenes, but after 5.06 especially I wanted to write a little for the end, an extension maybe of A/G after they retreated to their private chambers. Hence, this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Shared Chambers: _Completion_**

He watches her from the doorway, silent reverie upon his face. They’ve been married now for just a little past three years. He can still recall what it felt like that night to enter these chambers and close the door, her hand sliding against his waist. She kissed him then with little shyness, Her lips brushing across his own with currents of long held away desire. So, he too felt his, after their time apart during the banishment.

All that feels so long ago. Now the chambers that were once his alone, have a woman’s touch. No longer is everything about practicality, but also beauty. Dressing furniture adorns the sides of the bed. The linens upon the mattress are no longer so deep red and gold, but tempered too by the rose of flowers. The changing screen has moved from the corner to the side of the bed. Basically beyond that point, is their private area. He likes now that he can laze upon the bed and watch her change out of her attire with no hindrance. His wife’s body, although petite, is filled with luscious curves and dips. Her curls when they fall against her henna hued skin is one of the most enticing things ever.

Now she is dressed in her nightgown. It’s a soft shade of cream and milky white, sprinkles of flowers. Its flowing material bounces against her hips with luscious life. Her body cambers there quite nicely. Her fingers are reaching for the bottom of her hair, twisting the ends. He’s always a little bit fascinated when she does this. After all, her dark hair is filled with ringlets of wonder that his fingers quite love. So why all the fuss?

She’s humming softly. She’s humming one of those medieval tunes the minstrels play at their occasional banquets, celebrating a conquered feat of Camelot or a holiday of recognition. It is softly lyrical. Since marrying her, he has learnt that his wife’s voice is tuned to song very well.

Her body turns slowly, before her eyes face him. She smiles with slow gradual splendor. He smiles the same, closing the door behind to give them privacy. He’s wearing his red tunic, so he unbelts it from his waist. Then he pulls it away from his chest. Her fingertips still right at the ends of her hair, she gazes at him with silent appreciation and a tiny flickering frown.

Being a warrior king means a muscled body. It also mean a collection of scars. No new ones now, but still whenever she sees the line of them, her smile breaks for a bit. He’s told her often enough it is the price of being a man in these times, a ruler of kingdom. So she’s accepted it with just a hint of disapproval. He looks around and sees it on the edge of their bed as she returns to the twisting of the bottom sections of her hair. He pulls the thin material over his chest, the white tunic molding the sinew of his toned build. He walks further into the room and sits down on the side of the bed, observing as she moves closer to the window, still faintly humming as she continues the weaving of her nebulous curls.

“Why do you do that?”

She turns around at the question, raising her eyebrows some. “What?”

Arthur points forward. “You do it most every night, except those when sleep is far from our minds.” His blue eyes look to her suggestively.

She returns the gesture with hint of excitement.

“Why do you bind your hair? It’s not like you could get it to curl anymore.”

She laughs softly at that, walking toward him. He watches with appreciation how the nightgown bounces against her full swaying hips. He loves her womanly cantor. Her knees bump against his as she comes in front. He lifts his hands to her waist, presses his fingers into the feathery folds. He feels her hand lift to his face, brush across his hair.

“I don’t do it for that reason, Arthur. I bind it to keep it from tangling in the middle of the night so it is no fuss in the morning. That is why my husband.”

“Oh…” He answers with new understanding, pulling at the nightgown’s material, hearing her flutter of laughter as he gets her to sit upon his lap with silent physical command. “I never knew that.”

His lips tinker with her cheeks. Soft and wet against her skin. He loves how she tastes, clean, flowery, no doubt from the floral scented soap she prefers to use. His head pushes against her chin, his hair raising against her face. She sighs, not protesting at his closeness.

The Disir took him away from home for a week about. Before that was everything with Mithian. The one thing he doesn’t like about those kinds of adventures, is that they mean days and nights away from here. Their private chambers. His wife’s closeness. Before he was married, sleeping in the wood was not such an ordeal. Now, even though he is silent about it, he often finds himself missing the sweet pressure of having her lie beside. Even if she is fully on the other end of the mattress, it is her presence that makes him calm. And those nights when they enjoy the physical aspect of being married, he loves the way her naked glistening skin feels against his. Their bodies ever so supple to each other’s in those moments.

His lips climb. Travel. A sensuous journey up her chin. Past her cheeks. Landing on her temple. Finding her eyebrows, lids. Kissing. Dining upon love. He can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose her momentarily. To not have her close. His hands, have since marriage, found possession of her body whenever they can. They covet every inch. Womanly breasts. Tempestuous hips. Sexual locking thighs. Even her delicate gracious hands. He knows his wife’s divine constitution intimately. But still when they shed it all and she opens herself up to him, and he enters, his mind turns to carnal delirium. She is his everything in this world.

“I love you…”He breaks from all his affections, whispering upward, peering into her dark eyes. “I love you…so so much Guinevere.”

She caresses his cheeks with her tender enamored fingers. How can there be so much pleasure in them? How they touch him. How he feels his body tighten. His manhood growl. Her eyes. Calescent splendor. She is his. And he hers. When they make love sometimes he thrusts so hard to be outside of his body, to soar inside her.

It’s not just man’s hormonal need for sex mind you. It’s more. He had those kinds of drives when he was younger, had infatuations with a princess here or there. He had a young man’s urges then. That’s not what this is. Never has been. Swears, fell in love with Guinevere’s mind before her body. Or maybe it was a little of both. Maybe it was just so intermingled he can’t even classify it. Because that was what falling in love with her was like. Losing his control of mind so viciously that his heart and fever of feeling took over.

Now he has more control of that. Now he’s not some lovesick fool. But still when she looks upon him like she is now, he is too blissfully happy, too feverish, too abandoned of sense, too in love.

“I love you too Arthur…” Her sweet hands caress him, coil into his hair, and express their feeling on his skin. He catches at her hair, feels where she has yet to braid it entirely. He wants to assist. “Teach me.”

“What?” She smiles just a bit.

“How to braid it. Your hair.”

So she shows him, how to part it, how to get it into three sections. Then how to twist. So he begins to follow the lead. She is a divine teacher. He tangles it up a few times, but then starts to get the hang of it. He loves the task because even though Guinevere’s hair is full of ringlets, it’s actually quite soft too while quite thick. It’s like a man’s play. He’s so deep into it when she whispers something that surprises him.

“Merlin seemed troubled when you came back.”

He sighs, letting out, “From the Disir you mean?”

“Yes.”

Well he had wanted a little more of the mundane before his mind turned to jelly, which it can with her, so now he gets it. Guinevere is a passionate woman, but also notices when anyone at all, especially those they are closest too, is not at usual. It’s something for him to love about her for sure. “I noticed too. But every time I try to talk to him he clams up. Maybe you should try. You’ve always had a good friendship.”

She lets out a sigh. “Yes, tomorrow I will.”

He finishes the braiding and turns her around with his hands. “Good. Now that we’ve dealt with that…”

He means it. Merlin is more than servant no matter how much Arthur does not admit it out loud. He is his friend too, probably the best one he’s ever had.

But at the moment, looking into his wife’s eyes again, seeing how the braiding exposes her beautiful neck, he is far from thoughts about friendship. His hand gripping her waist tightly, he presses kisses along her neck. Before pressing into it more profoundly. His tongue slides out. Slides over. Warm wet sweeps of predilection. Mindset concentrated on just this. Loving her. Loving this poetically lush skin she inhabits. And that makes him let out some dry laughter.

She pulls away from his tittering lips. “So now I amuse you?”

He captures her head, possessing her cheeks. “No. Not that. Just, hadn’t told you yet. Seemed silly to. When my father’s ghost was around…”

Her brow furrows. Her chest rises with reaction.

“Oh.” He rubs his hand over her arm comfortingly. “It’s a funny moment of it I swear. Doesn’t include him.” Arthur loved his father all his life. Still does. But he realizes now too that his father’s love was quite twisted at times. And just ruined by all his fears. They made him cruel far too often. Especially what his ghost did to his wife. So Arthur understands her troubling look right now.

“Leon found Merlin and me. Wondering what we were up to. And so Merlin, idiot, tells him he was teaching me poetry.”

“Poetry?” Gwen questions, before letting out a round of laughter.

He laughs with her, his smile full. “Yes.”

When Guinevere recovers she touches his cheeks. He looks up to her grin. “You are good at many things Arthur. But poetry is not one of them.”

He has to begrudgingly admit. Years ago he wrote her some as an apology after that crazy love enchantment with Vivian. It wasn’t until after he left her tiny home that she read it. And would later tell him it made her cry and laugh at the same.

He decides something, in his spontaneous manner, grasping her waist and lifting her from his lap. She protests, ‘Arthur’. But he ignores it and moves to the table. There he finds two glasses and the bottle. He pours the contents into just one and returns to the bed, scooping her back up into his grasp and getting her to be seated upon his lap again. A small kiss of her lips, and then, “Wine.”

“Mmm…” She murmurs. Guinevere does not care for Ale or anything such, but like him she does indeed enjoy a bit of wine’s velvety taste. Lifting the glass to her lips, he watches as they part to drink. Then he takes the glass for his own enjoyment, before putting it down near their feet. He gazes upon her mouth. It’s just a bit redder now. Just a bit wetter.

Arthur plunges, letting everything mingle. His taste. Hers. Then he just looks into her eyes, feeling the excitement of being married, of being loved, of being desired. So sumptuous is this feeling. So passionate and open. He grasps her closer, hearing her tiny shudder, hearing her even stronger moan. He looks away for a moment, brings his hand down. Reaches for the glass. Still some left.

He dips his fingers in, lets the velvety liquid dabble onto them. Then seeing her watching his actions, her eyes full orbs of erotic wonder, he kisses her, fingers pressing the warm wetness against the opening of her nightgown, down to the curve of her breasts. And she pants against him. She heaves. Like the beautiful passionate woman she is. Like the wife he feels zealously fortunate to have.

Oh yes. A man’s most voluble fortunes she is. Everything in these private chambers she gives him. Now as she grips him close. Urgently presses her fingers almost painfully against his thigh, up higher to his manhood. And when he pulls her away some, her eyes, oh her eyes, like calescent balls of fire. All for him. All this is greedily his. And all he wants to covet back. Show her. Always.

He presses into her nightgown. Feels her push at his pants. He pulls the feathery material away from her body. Feels her pull off his trousers. Bodies exposed. He can’t stop kissing with his lips. Even more can’t stop giving protracted sweeps of his tongue. That make her vibrate against him. Make her fingers claim so persistently. So ardently.

Naked, in between all the movement, the red and gold silken covers, sheets tease so profoundly he rolls against them, against her. Heaving, the friction so almost impossible to take. She’s open. Her eyes exuding libertine desire. So he pushes forward with her passionate permission. Impels into his wife all he so salaciously feels. And as he does, he feels her clinging. He feels her holding tight to the rocking of their bodies. He feels not only her strong beautiful love, but his own, pulsing, throbbing, and thrusting. It’s in every piece and fiber of his body. Love.

Love of wine they share.

Love of caring for friends.

Love of kingdom.

Love of duty.

And this.

Love of

Each other.

Of being bound to each other.

Of being inside her. Of she seizing him within so for the moment there is no escape. None he entreats.

Love.

Calescent. Dripping. Crown of completion.

~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour or so later he is sleepy and he can feel so is she. It’s a bitterly cold evening, whereas even with body warmth they will feel the chill in the morning, so she wears her nightgown again and he’s in his sleepwear too, thin trousers, and white tunic. Murmuring, he presses against her, holding his wife’s waist, feeling the feathery material under his fingers. It’s what he misses most when away from Camelot. Her warmth. Her softness. The curls of her hair. He presses himself into it all now, kissing her neck tenderly.

“Good night Guinevere.”

He can feel her smile as his fingers graze over her mouth and she kisses them. “Good night Arthur. May your dreams be sweet ones.”

He smiles at that, letting out a bit naughtily, “And licentious ones?”

She laughs a bit, before nudging her teeth against his finger.

“Ah.” He reacts.

And he feels her hold his hand to her breast as she whispers. “Only if they are of me.”

He reacts rapidly, with fervor of feeling. “Who else would they be of. You’re my only desire.”

Her smile again as she lifts his fingers for him to feel it. And that makes him smile before he lets out another murmur, closes his eyes. “The sweetest of dreams to you too my love.”

Warm, pressed around and into her, he feels his mind let go. Within their private chambers he has all he has ever truly, of heart, needed, within his arms.

Thus…

Sleep is so eased.

So blessed.  



	6. Nothing

_ _

**Nothing Note** The episode 5.06 was full of strong emotions. This filled in a few missing pieces and also had more speculation than was cannon as I continued a little from where the episode left off too.

**Shared Chambers: _Nothing_**

Gwen frowns with interest, lifting the long decorated object into her hands. How could she have not noticed this before? She picks up the piece by the handle, delicately runs her fingers just over the side of the blade. It’s adorned with the strangest markings of gold. Although it’s not that which piques her interest. It’s the way it’s been crafted that-

“Interested in my tools of armament now, are you?”

She startles at the voice, feeling the contact of his hand pressing over hers.

“Sorry, did not mean to alarm you.”

She turns around, giving a small smile as she lays the blade down. “No. You didn’t.”

He peers into her eyes curiously and she gestures to the sword she’s just lain down upon the table. Their chambers are dark, but for a few candles. He’s wearing his blue tunic and trousers, his boots already shucked off. Meanwhile, she wears her blue gown. The hour advancing, they’ll be going to sleep soon, but first she wishes to speak to him.

Her fingers move over the blue material of his tunic as she looks up into his matching eyes. “Arthur, did you not say that this sword came from one of Camelot’s ancient kings?”

He nods quietly. The sword is the rarest one he has, esteemed in history and therefore he takes it out hardly at all. Now he gets ready to sheath it back into its hold and put it upon the shelf where she must have found it, but her hand grips his arm. Stopping him. “What?”

Gwen peers down at the sword with a winkle to her brow. She runs her fingers over the shining gold and silver metal.

“Careful, touch the wrong part and you could cut yourself.” He pushes at her hand, but she lets out a grunt of protest, reminding, “I’ve forged a sword before, Arthur. Helped my dad in his makings. I know how to handle it without harming myself.”

He nods, saying nothing more, just catching at her chin, asking, “What is it Guinevere? You keep staring at it.”

She faces him with a tight sigh. “My father always forged swords in unique fashion. His style was like no one else’s. Arthur, I could tell just by touch, the ones he crafted. And this one…it’s oddly familiar to that same style.”

He raises his eyebrows with skepticism. “Well unless your father was one of the ancient foragers of long ago, my dear, it can’t be. This sword is perhaps hundreds of years old.”

She nods her head, unpleasantness setting on her face. Arthur finishes putting the sword away before turning to catch how unhappy she is. He ponders for a minute, realizing something. “It’s coming, isn’t it?”

She shakes her head.

So he moves in, and touches her cheek gently. “Your father’s birth anniversary.”

Gwen admits, “I miss him,” with a vulnerable whisper.

Lifting his hands, Arthur clasps his wife into an ardent hug.

Gwen’s lips touch her husband’s shoulder. She presses in against the familiar material, feeling his hand stroking her hair. “It’s actually months away.” She relates. “But still, I have so many feelings for him now. So many thoughts. So many remembrances.”

His fingers tangle into her hair, grasping at the coils of curls. “Makes sense to be sentimental. We’ve barely had a week for the past months without some kind of predicament.

It is so true. Morgana returned. Mordred returned and then injured. Uther’s ghost. Mithian needing to rescue her father. Odin wanting to kill Arthur. The Disir’s grave warning. It had been one thing after another.

So it makes sense that his wife is unraveling some from the lack of rest, and the continued piling of calamities. He sometimes feels like he is too.

“Where is it that he’s buried again?” Arthur’s gone with her a couple of times. But the place is remote, just a few village homes and the rest forest land.

“Mordor.”

“So far away.” Arthur whistles, to which she quickly responds with a snap of her lips.

“Well he could not be buried here because your father falsely accused him of being a traitor. No traitor burials in Camelot.”

Her anger is almost blazing. Arthur pulls back some, his face showing hurt and bits of shame. “I’m sorry. I know I didn’t do enough then.”

She lets out a calming sigh, chagrined for exploding so abruptly. “No. I’m the one who should apologize. It is in the past and I should not start a quarrel about what’s been done.”

“Guinevere.” He rubs her shoulder with his hand. “You have a right.”

Perhaps she does, but that won’t solve anything, will it? Gwen has always considered herself sensible, not so prone to outbursts “No matter. We both made mistakes then. Continue to do so sometimes now. A part of loving and living. Actually, he’s buried there because it was where he grew up.”

“Really?” Arthur asks intently.

Gwen smiles some, continuing fondly. “Yes. Where he met my mother too before she started working for Leon’s family. I think he followed her, if anything, when he started up his forge in Camelot. He was quite lovestruck by her. He used to tell me and Elyan the stories of how they met and how she did not like him at first.”

Gwen laughs softly at the remembrance.

Arthur smiles, caressing her cheek with his fingers. “Go on.”

“Well he was too much a dreamer. My mother was much more serious according to my father. She thought he was a little bit silly.”

“Like you think of me sometimes?” Arthur asks, tipping his wife’s chin with that boyish grin. She gives him one right back, fingers tracing into his blonde hair. “Actually I thought you were arrogant then.”

“An arrogant pig as I recall.” He states.

She shakes her head adamantly. “I never said that. I said that you snored like a pig. Your arrogance was just…you.”

“Well that’s complimentary.” Arthur deadpans with a roll of his eyes.

She laughs at that, capturing his face, planting a meaningful kiss upon his lips. “I love you.”

He smirks. “Same.”

She kisses his nose now. “But you still snore like a pig.”

“And now that it’s so long you flip your hair too much.”

“Ah!” She hits his arm and he laughs. They get into a bit of a tickling battle. Their silliness soon brings them to the edge of their bed, where once again she lets out a sigh. Arthur fingers away the hair at her temple. “You want to go there, don’t you? To Mordor?”

She nods her head. “I do. I want to see my father, Arthur. Visit him.”

He presses a kiss softly to her lips, letting out afterward, “I know. Elyan would probably like to come along. I could go with both of you.”

Gwen shakes her head at that, making him frown. “You told me that King Odin is to come for a day. Soon. You won’t want to miss that. You’re still putting the treaty to solid writing. You should be here Arthur.”

Although he doesn’t like it, he relents. She’s right. The meeting is too important.

“Fine. Elyan then. Gwaine, Leon and Percival too.”

Gwen’s eyebrows go up. “So many?”

He is adamant. “It’s a long trip Guinevere. There are bandits all around that land and don’t forget…there’s her too.”

Gwen’s frown comes. She doesn’t understand.

“Morgana.”

“Arthur-

“She tried to take you from me once before.”

“You mean when she enchanted me in the wood?”

He would later find out that before Morgana tried to take possession of Camelot for a second time with Agravaine, she first tried to stop the woman he loved from warning him about the upcoming attack.

“Forcing you to resemble a deer of all things, Guinevere. It was sick. Then just this year she wanted to put me in Odin’s hands so he could kill me. Thank heaven the man has a conscience.” He fingers her cheek. “I don’t know Morgana anymore. I don’t trust her. You can’t either.”

Gwen grimaces. Although it’s hard to accept Morgana as the enemy, she, herself, hasn’t trusted Morgana for some time. Albeit it’s strange, how suddenly Morgana is around so much. For years they caught no sight of her. Now she seems to constantly be lurking in the shadows, determined to cause harm.

However, for Arthur it’s been even harder to accept her malevolence. After all, when he learnt she was his half sister Morgana had just surprisingly seized possession of Camelot and taken his father prisoner, after years of what seemed a protective caring relationship. Truth was there was plenty of dark conflict.

“Alright, better to not take a chance.” Gwen whispers with admittance. “They can all go with me.”

~~~~~~

It’s many moments later that Elyan walks into the room. Arthur has just found him in the hallway. Gwen takes in her handsome brother, changed out of his chainmail from earlier, now wearing the usual brown trousers and a cloudy gray tunic.

“Arthur said you had something to ask me.” He states in his soft voice.

Boots tapping the floor busily, Arthur clears his throat. “Um, I’ll give you some time to-

Gwen catches at his arm though, shaking her head. “No. You are part of this too.” Holding to both their hands now actually, she tells Elyan her desire. “I want to visit Dad’s grave. Arthur proposed you coming with me which I would like very much.”

Elyan smiles softly, nodding his head. Although he and his sister love each other greatly, there have been incidents in the near past, and more distant too, that have strained at their relationship. For years he was the careless one, traveling around with barely a word between them. He moved from one place to another. But before that, she was the one who raised him mostly.

Recent prickles of distance came from the banishment ,and simply the long periods of time he spends away from Camelot because of his knighthood. So this will be good for both of them, a way to strengthen their familial ties.

He smiles at Arthur for a fast moment. His king is not only a ruler of supreme conduct. He is also a good loving man, who treats his sister well. He is so grateful for that. Grateful to his king too for giving him purpose finally, a reason not to travel constantly with no true destination.

“I’d like that too Gwen, us going together.”

She lets out a sigh of happy relief, smiling and moving forward to spontaneously hug her brother. “We’ll go in a day?” .

Arthur thinks how this is just what she needs. He wishes he could go too. But the trip shouldn’t take more than a few days. Soon they’ll be together again.

“A day it is Gwen.” Elyan agrees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

His heart is pounding. No other way to explain it. His boots pound the floor as he enters their chambers, alone, the words ringing in his ears. It can’t be true. He sent four of his most trusted men, including her brother, and they lost her? How can that be? Arthur pulls away his chainmail; it gets caught and so he yanks it past his hair. A mistake. The actions sends shards of pain through him that he ignores, finally getting the blasted chainmail fully past.

Momentary hurt. Doesn’t matter. Just wants his wife.

He turns back to the bed, sees the sheets and covers all neatly in place, per the usual. But nights ago she was sleeping within them and he was pressed against her. That is where he likes to be. Pressed against his wife’s body.

He loves her. Needs her here.

_Needs._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They clasp each other’s arms and then Merlin departs, telling him it will be alright, that they’ll find her, after speaking of the horror Arthur doesn’t want to face. Morgana.

Morgana might have done this?

God in Heaven, no. Morgana’s heart is cracked now. She doesn’t seem to care for her soul or anyone else’s. Morgana is so full of hatred and desire to have his throne that she will stop at nothing to get it.

He wrings his hands, goes to the furniture at his wife’s side of the bed. All her things she uses to enhance her beauty. Intimate things. He feels his eyes swelling with something of liquid. Water of salt. But he can’t permit it. No weakness. He needs to find her. That’s all.

So no sleep tonight. He doesn’t want to lie down upon the bed anyway. His arms miss her so much. His breath clutches. It hurts. Being without Guinevere, knowing she could be in danger, maybe hurt, maybe crying for him…

It’s the worst pain.

Crazy, but maybe she can hear. Feel. _“Guinevere…I’m going to find you. I swear. Bring you home. My wife.”_

He looks to the side of the bed, sees it upon her furniture, her nightgown, folded so neatly. He clutches it into his hands. It was his gift a little after they were married. She loves flowers so much. He found someone who crafted it perfectly. Like her it is sensual, but not seemly. Like her it is glowing in soft natural color, no sharp white or darkness, but somewhere beautifully between. On her it flows, captures her breasts, trails down her thighs. On her it is beautiful.

And in his hands now it is wet.

As he can longer hold it in. One moment of stupid weakness. As he lays upon the bed. Clutching the material in his grip. Giving in for seconds of that moment, before he scrapes away his tears, gently places her nightgown where it belongs and sits up against the headboard. Even if his eyes close, he will not fully sleep this night.

No peaceful slumber until she’s returned.

None.

~~~~~~~~

The funeral is over. She is back in Camelot. Within their chambers. Gwen, who hasn’t smiled in days, looks around the set of rooms solemnly, hearing as her husband comes in. She turns around, seeing his watchful expression.

“It’s late, Guinevere. Time to sleep, don’t you think?”

She stares at him for a moment, before nodding. He changes out of his clothing, and dresses for the evening. His white tunic, his sleeping trousers. He walks over to her, gently grasping her dark curls. “No braid tonight?”

Gwen slowly shakes her head. “I think I’m too tired to bother with it.”

He frowns at that, touching her cheek, which she allows. “I could help you.”

Her answer is quick. “No. It’s fine.” Her hand clasps his for a moment, before letting go.

He moves in to kiss her softly. She holds still all the while. As she does Arthur takes no offense. The past few days have been grueling for her no doubt. Morgana’s capture. Elyan’s death. It’s been a nightmare and it’s shown on his wife’s face ever since. If he tries to get her to talk about the capture, she politely declines from answering. If he wants to help her with her grief, she says she needs time to deal with it on her own. So he allows this bit of distance they have from each other now, even if it kills him some bit by bit.

Gwen moves to her side of the bed, hearing as Arthur does the same for his. She watches him get into the bed. Then slowly she does too, turned away.

Arthur lets out a long sigh, bringing his arm over his wife’s waist and stomach. “I love you Guinevere.” He presses a kiss against her cheek gently, whispering, “I know you are hurting very much so now. I just want you to know that I am always here for you. And…I love you.”

Gwen grimaces at that, bringing her arm down over where his blanketed one is. She holds on and whispers back. “I know you do. I know that Arthur.”

Days ago she would have said the same, but once again with what she’s been through, it’s no wonder that she doesn’t now. He brings his other hand up, under her hair, soothing there some. “You’re safe now, alright? Morgana can do you no more harm. I promise. I’ll never let her near you again.”

Gwen lets out a sound.

Is it disagreement? Arthur wonders. “What was that?”

She frowns steadily in the darkness, before shaking her head, pressing a kiss against his hand. “Nothing. I know now that no harm can come to me. I know in your arms…in this bed…everything will be fine.”

She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t speak more than a whisper. It’s low and devoid of much emotion. Almost strange. But he tells himself again, no reason to wonder why. She simply needs to heal. He will make sure that she has that time, and that she recovers from this fully.

“Good night Guinevere.” He kisses at her hairline one more time.

There is silence for a long while. And then,

“Good night Arthur.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

She opens the door to their chambers, slowly, carefully. She looks across to the bed, seeing that he is still sleeping soundly. His head down so far on the bed, his body all cocooned within the covers, she stares at him silently.

_You love him._ A misting voice states.

Gwen’s brow wrinkles furiously. She looks around the room anxiously. “Who said that? Who’s here?”

_Don’t be alarmed. Child of mine._

Gwen looks to the fire in the hearth. To beyond. Seeing a glowing shadow. A too familiar one. “Mother?”

_Yes Guinevere, it is me._

Gwen stares in amazement. The only memories she has of her mother are from when she was just past being a baby. Her mother died soon after, but there are these little glimpses that still linger in her heart. She can visualize her…exactly like she appears now.

“I-I’ve missed you so much.” She tells her shakily.

The ghostly form of her mother takes a step forward. _And I, you, Guinevere. Now listen. We don’t have much time. The spirit world only allows these kinds of exits for a few precious moments. I want to tell you a story. I want you to listen well._

Gwen frowns, confused. “A story?”

_Yes. A true one. Of you. Come here._ Her mother’s hand invites. Gwen walks forward cautiously, surprised when she can actually hold it. But when she goes to hug, her mother’s form grows more shadowy. The elder woman counsels, her dark curls of hair so almost perfectly like her daughter’s.

_No. No closer than this. Hands only._

Gwen pulls back, nodding her head, and listens to her mother’s teaching voice.

_When I married your father, and I was with child, with you, I surprised your father. I told him we should name you Guinevere; he didn’t see why._

“What do you mean?”

_Guinevere was a name of nobility, used many years ago, and never since. It was esteemed in history. And then left alone, its importance forgotten I would surmise._

“But you used it. Why?”

_That was what your father wondered. Why use such a name?_

“Yes. And?”

Her mother squeezes her hand just a bit before letting go, the action once again causing her form to fade a bit during the contact. _Because Guinevere, I knew the first time I saw you, I knew even a little before you were in my arms, that there was something very special about you. That with such a name you would go on to do great things, be a person of fervid importance. And I was right. You are Queen. Married. Happy._

Gwen says nothing, a small stubborn frown upon her face.

Her mother looks around, almost as if someone is watching them. She clasps her daughter’s hand. _Guinevere, you must fight it. That voice telling you to do wrong. I fought with your father enough in the early days, but I knew when I married him that I married a good man, a loving man. Oh, he had his silly ways at times, but he was a fine husband. And a good father. You’ve married yourself the same. And I can see it in your eyes. You love him._

Gwen turns back, looks down upon the bed, to the form of Arthur sleeping, huddled mostly underneath the covers, as he is akin to do more-so than she. Just a draft in the castle, and Arthur is cold, whereas she has grown up in humbler dwellings and doesn’t catch a chill as easily.

Another image, a contrasting one, forms inside her mind, and pulls at her to do its bidding.

_Don’t listen to it._ Gwen turns back to her mother, seeing her strong dark eyes, conviction and concern rolling in them. _It’s not what you really feel. It’s not the truth. I know you miss your brother, another of my children I am so proud of, but it is a lie, Guinevere, what you think is veracity. Guinevere, answer to your name._

Gwen looks back to the bed for another handful of seconds. Then, “But mother-

And gasps. No one is there anymore. The shadowy form of the woman who is her mother is gone. Her last bit of advice, what had that meant?

Gwen pushes her hands through her hair. Since coming back to Camelot her feelings have been so conflicted. So twisted tight. Turning around, she removes her cloak and stands at the window, peering below. So lost in thought, she doesn’t realize that the bed has movement, until hands are touching her shoulders. She gasps at them, turns around rapidly.

“Sorry.”

It is there in his eyes. Such sorrow. Such concern. She stares. What her mother said. Contrary to what Morgana said. To her feelings of hate and-

Hate…since when did she hate anyone?

Not even Uther Pendragon when he took her father’s life.

Hate, now?

“Guinevere…”

He calls her it softly like her mother did. But his way has its own intimate slant. Arthur always stresses the first part to make it sound like _Gwen-i-vere_. She stares up at him, feeling his hand on her arm and then his body coming against hers. His chest touching hers. His hands opening to take her into his embrace. Part of her wants to resist. Part of her needs it. She distances the hold with her hands, pushing at his shoulders, but does not push him away entirely.

Odd wetness forms in Arthur’s eyes. He tries to push it away as he strokes his wife’s hair. “Guinevere, I’m here, alright? Please know I’m here.”

She looks past his shoulder, thinking of something. “But you always ride off.”

Arthur pulls back to give her a questioning look. “What?”

She nods her head, telling him with a quiver to her brow. “It is true. Every time there is some mission, some obstacle of some sort, you ride off with the knights. You leave me here alone. You expect me to always be waiting. To be strong. And yet when I needed you-

“What do you mean?” He stares at her, not getting it.

Tangles in her mind. Knots in her heart. She grasps his shoulders, shaking her head, whispering. “Kiss me.”

Arthur feels even more confused. He tells himself it’s her grief. And does it. With no entre needed. For he loves her so solidly, has missed her so much. His lips part, descend, play around the edges of hers. Tease just a bit.

He licks at them for a moment. Wets them. She can feel the warm dampness against her skin and then finally they are upon her mouth.

Arthur’s fingers go to his wife’s hair. He holds there firmly, his mouth a dance of emotion.

She presses into his tunic, keeping him close. Keeping the wet fiery wonder of him.

He can hear his pained moan as he pushes her against the wall. It’s too fevered, but he can’t stop it. The pain that swallowed his heart when he thought he lost her. He grits his teeth, pulling away, whispering against her shoulder, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She raises her hands to his hair, tangles her fingers into it. “You’re not.”

He looks into her eyes, sees pain, but it’s not from his kiss. It’s from something else. Grief. So tight. So enveloping. “I’m sorry. About Elyan. If I could have…Guinevere you must know…”

A few tears swim at her eyes, but she swallows them away, her fingers pushing at his mouth. “No. Don’t. Just. No.”

He lowers his head again. Ashamed.

She told Morgana that he thinks he’s won. _Why?_ Is this winning? Has he? Has she?

“Arthur…”

Her whisper tears at his soul. Soft. Sweet. He looks up to her face, clutches at her cheek. And kisses her again. His mouth a spring of love and warmth. Passion of feeling the fire. He never wants to let her go.

She doesn’t push him away this time, until the end, her hand thrusting itself against his shoulder, her head shaking.

Arthur moves away from her, seeing how he has forced her fully into the wall. But she seems to be no prisoner. Just oddly watching him. He wants more. He wishes for more. A man’s wishes. Man’s desires. But love’s fuller. Arthur reaches for his wife’s hand. “Come. Come back to bed with me.”

She stares down at his hand.

He tips her chin. “Dreams. I’m imagining that’s what got you up. The knights had them too. You can talk to me about them. It could help.”

She stares further for a moment, before shaking her head. “No.” Visions swim too fiercely. Laughter. Dry. Uncaring. “No. I just want to go to sleep.”

He nods, holding tight to her hand.

Each climbs back into the bed.

He goes to his side.

She to hers.

Arthur wraps his arm around her waist again, pressing the kiss to the back of her head. “If you need me I’m here. Always. Forever here.”

“I know.” She states. Waits.

He is weary…

Moments later he is asleep. As she lies awake, clutching his hand against her breast, looking down at its ugliness. Its beauty.

How can she be so conflicted? Why did she meet with Morgana in the wood?

Because this is her new mission. Beyond being Queen.

Opening the throne for the new one. The rightful one. Morgana told her that she will never be alone again. Never neglected again. Never afraid again.

Of laughing images. Of screams in the dark.

And yet. This arm that holds her near, the hand that touches her hair above, there is something so strongly gentle about it. So fiercely caring.

Guinevere. Her name. Can’t forget.

Can’t let herself be claimed.

She must fight.

Only Gwen fears that the fight has just begun.

That soon nothing will be able to stop her…

Hate. Oh so strong hate. Welling. Burning.

Nothing…

From killing the man she loves.

Letting him die

Like he let her brother die.

~~~~~~~

_The tower is dark. Gray black viciousness. It sucks at life. Its vulgar tongued doorway disintegrating happiness. In the background the screams plague her ears. But even more-so prevalent is the moan from him, which echoes her gasp of horror._

_In shock she runs forward, catches at all the silver metal. It’s the one true ugliness of armor plates and rings of chainmail. They hinder, making it hard to touch the body. It’s so awkward, but she manages to catch his fall, to hold him upon her lap. He is hurt. He is bleeding, trickles seeping out of his armor. This hard thing he wears, why couldn’t it have protected him enough? Why is he bleeding now?_

_Dying in her arms._

_It’s only a few whispers of pride for each other. Love for each other. And then he’s gone. Her dear brother, Elyan, is gone._

_They rush in. Too late. He runs forward, but the time of saving is over. Her heart feels like an anchor is tugging it from her body, wanting to succumb it to nebulous pools of slime. Pulling. Grasping. Wrenching it away. It aches. Oh God, how it aches._

_Not her Elyan. Not her dear baby brother. No more of this. First her mother. Then years later her father. And now…_

_No family. No one. No-_

_She can hear the voice in the back of her head. Drowning out the screams. The men’s murmurs of sympathy. The breathing of her husband who sits kneeled nearby. The female voice whispers in her head to hold on. That she is not alone. That everything will be alright. Just play the part. Let them win their glory._

_She doesn’t care about any glory though. Her body just wants to take her brother away from it all. Hold him. Keep him safe forever. Never let any harm-_

_“Guinevere.”_

_It’s a soft whisper, a warm hand coming over hers. “Guinevere.”_

_She heard that voice in the room upstairs. Where those awful black slimy things hung all around. It taunted her. It laughed at her. And now that ugly voice is trying to be so gentle. But she knows the truth. His fault. His-_

_“Guinevere. We need to go. We need to-_

_“No.” She clutches her brother’s body harder against her lap. His dead lifeless body. “No.” She insists, protecting him from that voice. “No I’m not leaving him. I’m never leaving him again.”_

_Something touches her chin. That warm hand. She is forced to look into his eyes. Stained by tears. His look so gentle. So pained. Shaking of the head. “We won’t leave him Guinevere. I promise you that. We’ll take him with us._

_Right?” He looks to the men standing behind.. She does too for a moment, noticing how they nod their heads vigorously. Not enough. She lowers her body more, holding Elyan tighter in her grip. “Won’t leave him.” She murmurs. “Won’t leave him.”_

_A shaky breath comes out next to her. There is the sound of material. It is draped over her shoulders. She peers down at the crimson Pendragon cape with fascination and disgust. Red. Like blood. Like the blood upon his hands. Should have been-_

_“Guinevere. Come on. Come with me.”_

_His voice is so soft. It’s flooded with emotion. And then it’s firm. “Guinevere, we need to go. You need to release him. Look…Percival will carry him. We’ll get him out of here. Come on…Guinevere my love…come on.”_

_He whispers it against her brow, for only her to hear. She looks up to him with surprise. Confusion and fear. “Arthur?”_

_He nods, tears rolling down his cheeks._

_Her hands touch him. “Arthur?”_

_“I’m here.” He grasps her waist. The body is being pulled from her, but she pulls back. “No! Leave him be! Leave him with me. No.”_

_She hears agonized sighs. And then. “Guinevere, I promise, we’re going to get Elyan out of here, but you have to let them take him. You can’t carry him alone. Come on…come with me.”_

_His voice is like she is a child now. Percival peers down at her with a gentle smile, but his face too is streaked with tears. “You will take care of him?” She asks. “You will keep him warm?”_

_His voice is stricken. “I will. I promise Gwen.”_

_She nods, slowly letting go, feeling her husband’s hold on her waist, on her arm._

_He lifts her to her feet. She can feel the heaviness of her face, the wet against it. And the screams in the back of her ears. The voice telling her to go. She won’t be alone for long._

_Arms suddenly clasp her, a shuddering voice letting out. “My God, I thought I might lose you.”_

_She is boneless within them, saying nothing. He pulls back, clasps her cheeks. “Guinevere?”_

_She shakes her head, saying nothing. Voices are all around. Telling him they have to go. As he asks. “Morgana, Guinevere what happened to her?”_

_She shakes her head again and he seems to reproach himself. “Stupid of me to ask. Wherever she is she can’t hurt you anymore. You understand…we’re getting out of here.”_

_Gwen says nothing, letting him hold her waist and pull her to the steps. The screams. The black hanging slimy things. The dark dark walls. The voice she must heed._

_Hate them. Oh…hate them…_

_The tower merges to the wood. It is night. Arthur’s arms surround her, but she does not move. Her tears are dried on her face. She has not cried anymore since leaving the tower. Seated on the ground, with the cape wrapped around her, in his tight hold, she hears him whisper words of love._

_But she holds still stoically. There is no passion left in her. No feeling. His kiss upon her brow, her cheek, and a gentle one to her lips do nothing to bring warmth. She is boneless still._

_Emotionless._

_Beyond, he lies. A corpse._

_A metal gleaming corpse._

“AH! NO! STOP!"

Gwen screams and screams. Her hands reach for something, anything to help. There is fuss nearby. There are strong hands and arms gripping her body, telling her in a firm voice that it’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. She is safe. She is home and she is safe.

She looks upon the man she loves.

The man she hates.

And twists her fingers into her hair.

Over. She just wants it all over. The pain. The screams. The confusion. The agony.

Over.

Arthur is shocked and concerned. He’s never heard his wife scream like that, with such terror in her voice. He holds her, strokes her hair as he sees her fingers grip at it. Gently he pushes them away, feels her give up the fight and go boneless in his arms. Part of him is relieved, the other disappointed. It’s been like this for days now. She remains so locked up, not telling him anything. Just saying she needs time. But he is a restless man and his anxiety is growing.

Gwen stays unmoving, until she sees it. She sits up a little more, locking her fingers on his shoulder. She strains some, until she gets a good view. He said it had no tie to her. Maybe he lied.

She knows that hold. She knows it so well. The crafting of the iron ore and carbon into steel. In her hands it was so familiar. So it must be. Her husband has lied to her. She grips his shoulder harder, fingers digging into the white material of his sleep shirt.

Digging so hard that-

“Ah-

Arthur pants, whispering with a hiss, “Guinevere…too tight.”

“Oh.” She lets go quickly. Shakes her head. What was she thinking? Of bringing that sword down, the one he prizes so much? And doing what with it?

_Slash through his heart._

“Oh.” She moans.

Arthur reaches for his wife’s cheek. He tenders it with his fingertips. He can’t take much more of this, seeing her so pained and so far from who she really is. Maybe he’ll ask Gaius for a sleeping draught in the morning. “Guinevere…”

She won’t look at him so he holds both her cheeks firmly in his hands.

His grip is tight, but not abusive. She looks up into his eyes finally, seeing fervent resolve there.

“Let’s get away.” He suggests. “For a day. Just leave Camelot for a bit. Go out into the wood. Have a picnic.” His brow wrinkles. His face fills with emotion as he bends down, kisses her neck softly, looking up after. Absorbing her eyes with his own. “Together. You and me.”

Had she nearly just pierced his heart? Desired it? The screams. Black hanging things. They’re everywhere. He’s there, Merlin, and even her brother, laughing. Taunting. Hanging. Dripping. Those things, they keep dripping. Soiling her face. Her clothes. And it’s dark. It’s so dark. There’s no light. But when they come. Those who taunt her. He’s one. Morgana says don’t listen. Pretend. He is the enemy.

No. No that’s wrong. He’s my husband. He loves me.

Screams. Ah. Stop. Stop.

“Guinevere…” He can hear his own voice shaking as Arthur holds his wife’s arms, begging her to listen to him, to come away from whatever horror Morgana put her through. “Guinevere…a picnic, what do you say?”

_Go. Take care of it there. End it there._

No. Gwen lifts her hands, touches her husband’s cheeks. “Arthur.”

“Yes?”

So much in his face. So much dread and hope and ugliness and beauty. “Stay with me.”

He shakes his head, frowning. Not understanding anymore. He’s with her already. What does she mean? Why won’t she answer? “Guinevere, I _am_ with you. You’re home. In our chambers, the ones that belong just to you and me, Guinevere, my love…I am with you. Always.”

_Answer him. Answer. Don’t let him guess. Keep it up._

I don’t want to hurt him.

_You have no choice._

_Now do it._

She leans forward, kisses his lips, feeling his breath, shaky, needing. “I think a picnic is what I need with you.”

He smiles finally. She does too. Holding onto it. Just happy that the screams are fading away.

He holds her waist, brings her down on the bed with him, and whispers into her ear. “Okay. We’ll go then. Now. Sleep.”

When she is lying down, him behind her, she feels his arm wrap around her stomach again. The other hand goes under her hair once more. She holds to each hand. Feeling warmth.

And the screams start once more. The black hanging things pierce her vision. She shivers.

Arthur holds her closer, whispering into her ear. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re not alone. You’re never alone Guinevere.”

Never alone is right. The voices, the screams are always there. Her voice. Morgana’s. Urging her.

So she waits. Waits for him to sleep…

Soon enough he does with her hand doing what it’s done since they first married, stroking him to slumber.

She gets up from the bed, looks up to the shelf. Swallowing, she reaches for it. His precious sword. She fingers it. Once again feeling it. She knows it. Knows every inch of it too well. He lies.

She moves to the bed with it in her hand. Lifts it. But it stays only in the air. His face is like a child’s in sleep. Content. Trusting.

The voice tells her to do away with him. But she cannot heed. She won’t.

No. I love him. He loves me.

She fights the voice with her heart, thinking of what her mother told her. Feeling the hate swelling, but lurking underneath are the last bits of love.

She puts the sword back, feeling cold. Feeling empty. Climbs back into the bed, returning his hands to where they need to be. Under her hair. Around her stomach.

The blackness is hanging over her. She shrieks inwardly at its closeness. Trembles at the voice that orders her.

And yet defies it by lifting his arm and kissing his hand with her mouth. Holding his palm there to her lips, not letting him go.

_Lies. The sword is familiar._

She fights the voice, again and again. Needing to hold onto a piece of what she was before all this happened, straining to remember exactly what that was. Maybe the sword is familiar. But she doesn’t want it.

_Kill him._

No. Stop.

_End his life._

No. The black slimy things are everywhere. Screams in her head. She tries to fight it though. She-

_Tear his heart into pieces._

God no.

Not my sweet Arthur.

_He’s a liar._

_You will heed._

_Or it will be everywhere. In the air. On the floor. In this bed. In your soul._

No. She pleads, holding his hand tighter, hearing him sleepily murmur,

“Guin…”

She kisses his hand. Keeps him near, rubbing it to put him back to sleep.

But not to death. Never that.

_It’s his fault Elyan is no more._

No.

_It’s his fault._

No.

Hate. Love. Passion. Disgust. Take. Give. Leak. Dry.

_They will drip all over you if you don’t listen to me._

_You’ll be consumed by them._

Kill. Save.

Screams.

She is in purgatory.

And only one thing can save her.

Save him.

More than an enchantment. More than a thousand dripping mandrakes. More than a dark tower of nightmarish illusion.

One thing.

The antithesis of boneless stoicism.

The shield that parries hatred.

The emotion that capsules the flame of passion.

The feeling that no magic, not even the darkest kind, not even a twisted vile enchantment, can succumb…

**_Love._ **

~  



	7. Gillyflowers

_ _

**Gillyflowers Note:** This was a scene extender of the opening romantic scene of A/G in episode 5.08. It had a lot of speculation, but also Guinevere's hints of conflict.,

**Shared Chambers: _Gillyflowers_**

They are everywhere. In this room. Upon this bed. The scent. The color. It has been like that for years now, since he married her. When she took her bath, they were in her soap. And now, as they endeavor into the truest part of marriage, they are sprinkled over her naked body. He put them there. Petal by petal. Flutter to flutter. He knows she loves how their soft texture caresses her skin.

He loves how if he slides one up higher on her thigh it causes her body to give a lightning spark’s shudder. He loves pressing them over her breasts, watching the pink lavender white mold her tender crescent nipples. He loves her quaking sigh as he takes each petal, turns it to a washcloth, a body brush, an intimate comb, a prelude to capitulation.

His fingers, grasp petioles and woman’s flesh. Her waist responds to his firm hold. Her fingers lock hard into his hair. Hold him there so he descends even further. It is sensual. It is sexual. It is love. His heart has never filled so full as it does when he is with her. He goes just a bit mindless. Just a bit scattered. All over, all protected, all shielding, he is with her.

That is why he gathered strings of gillyflowers. Had Merlin find the rest. That is why he strung them all around their bed this night. Because when she smiles the way she did when she saw them all, the sweet lift of her voice, is what enraptures him the most.

Makes him excited. Makes him yearn. Makes him ache to be free of clothing, bonded to love. Bonded to desire.

His manhood throbs. His chest beats, long staccato of vibrations. He rubs himself against her, against the petals, feeling one find his thigh, go between even more. And the friction’s so deep. He presses further against her. Rubs. Thrusts. Pulse right there. Her breasts, petals and all, push upward, rasping his chest. He moans. He aches. Yearn so deep.

Too fast. He’ll expel if he keeps up the foreplay. But for her benefit. Make her feel-

“Now Arthur.”

She whispers in his ear, telling him to stop his silly resistance. Let it go. She’s ready to catch. To hold him inside.

So he enters. And feels petals. She’s holding them, rubbing them into his shoulders. They’re between her hot wet thighs. Caressing him. Teasing him. They’re within this intimate cavort. She is like the flowers. Wild. Beautiful. Unique. Loving her is like a melodic dance that reaches crescendos too high to sing. It’s only seconds. He can’t take it. Apologizes.

Sometimes he’s patient. Sometimes she does this to him. But her kisses tell him to feel no sorrow. She loves him and wants him to be free. To not hold back. Closing his eyes, everything on the tip, too critical to go back now, the surge there, he is swelled. So full it’s too much. Like loving her. Like-

“Come inside me Arthur.”

And he’s gone.

He’s a hot mess of man’s exodus.

He’s falling against her shoulder, his palm pressing into the mattress and an equally fallen petal the only thing keeping him from collapse. His pleasure first. Juvenile feeling. Like when they first married and he couldn’t contain things.

But she’s there, caressing his wet locks of hair, bringing his head down, bringing it to rest under her breasts. He lifts his shaking fingers, catches a nipple, squeezes it gently, swallows it for a second with his mouth, and loves it. Loves her. As her fingers continue stroking. Pushing back from his eyes.

He wanted it to be together. He wanted it to be perfect. But he should know by now nothing ever is. And that she will never blame him for being taken over by emotion, by passion.

And yet…

He finds it. The strength. He’s over his fill. He loves seeing her body arch. Watching her breasts bounce. Hearing her shudder. He loves giving her pleasure. So he slowly pulls out, the swell over. He grasps her curls. He rubs his fingers across her beautiful skin.

And whispers.

“Now yours.”

And he means it. He gives it. He brings her to a point of highest ascent. He feels her hot and wet. Sees her cry.

As he returns the favor. To be her husband. To give his wife the same joy she gives him, a sprinkling of petals pressed between their ardent passion-slickened bodies.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen wakes up, feeling a bit of moisture and softness against her breast. She opens her eyes. There are wet pressed petals upon her skin. And there is also a head with golden hairs that are still a bit damp. She has turmoil of emotions as she gazes at him within the slowly lightening room. It will be morning near enough and she will have to push him away. Time to wake and dress. But for now the hour is still pardoned for sleep. And rest. And husband and wife intimacies.

She has this cacophony of noise in her head. Arthur’s. Morgana’s. Back and forth. She has temptations and desires that don’t quite mesh. One part of her wants to leave this bed, go to see her mistress, for Morgana is the one she loves and cares for. She is her dearest friend, like a sister really. Morgana is the one who will keep her safe, keep away those awful slimy black things. Morgana.

But Morgana did not give her gillyflowers. Oh beautiful precious colorful gillyflowers, always with that edging sprinkle of pink. No matter what their shade, forever that bit of pink. And it is only with him she feels such strong passionate yearnings. Even when he can’t hold back, like last night. Nearly falls apart in her arms.

Actually maybe that is when it is most prevalent. When he is a quaking mess of man’s need and also man’s overflowing love. She knows he is less satisfied with himself then. Thinking he’s not being the kind of man who quashes his own happiness for his wife. So she always strokes his wet hairs then. Tenders it all away from his wet forehead.

Maybe it’s counter to what he thinks will come, but she loves him even more then. Because she knows he tried. Tried so hard to temper himself for her. But sometimes it just doesn’t work that way.

Like sometimes assassination attempts go bad. She tried to kill him a week or two ago. It didn’t work. Poisoning him, he still lived. And yet the poison affected him. When he first woke, he was feeling some pain, some discomfort. Walking around to relieve himself, other things, were hard for him. And so she would hold his waist, assist him to the pot, back to the bed and such. Until he was okay to do it himself. Until he no longer needed someone to lean upon.

She felt herself actually _wanting_ to help him then. Feeling discomfort at his pain and lack of resource.

Which is all so strongly strange. Because she is the one who gave him the poison. Morgana wanted her to do it and she did.

Now he sleeps. Trusting. Believing. He is so pressed up against her that it would only take seconds for her hands to find a way to rid the world of him.

Her fingers ascend. They clasp his throat. A little harder. A little tighter. In sleep a gasp comes from his mouth. His forehead wrinkles. Then a moan.

She shudders at it, bringing her fingers away.

It wouldn’t work like that. He’d wake and see her she tells herself. No way could she do it fast enough that he wouldn’t know. That is her excuse, not that hearing him moan with ache actually bothered her. She tenders his neck with her fingers, caressing to rub away the faint redness, thinking it is because she doesn’t want to leave a noticeable mark, not because of her heart swelling.

His hands when they touch her breasts, when they enter her most intimate walls and stroke do not make her body flutter with excitement. That can’t be it. He can’t be her desire.

That’s wrong. That will bring back the black slimy things. That will displease Morgana. Oh sweet wonderful Morgana. Like her sister. Keeping her safe.

She doesn’t love this man in bed with her. She only pretends. If she could, she would end his life now. But the time, the place is wrong. It will only spoil the plans. Morgana has them. She tells her. Wait and she will learn what the next move is. No failure. They will succeed.

And then…

Arthur Pendragon will be a corpse.

Oh. Her breast pangs. She moves away from his damp head. She pushes it far away and then recoils at what she’s done. She tries to bring it back, but then he’s waking, slowly. Eyeing her with confusion.

“Guinevere?”

She looks down upon the mattress, gathers some in her hands, and rubs them against his cheek. “I love you so much for getting these for me…tying them around the headboard, the end. You are a wonderful husband.”

He smiles at that, grasping her naked shoulders and looking into her eyes. He gazes upon her face. Her lips. Her teasing breasts. “You enjoyed them then?”

She smiles back genuinely at his question. It is the queerest thing. This man she is meant to hate. He remembers the sweetest little things. Cares about them as he does her. His lovemaking is full of devotion. Oh it ardent. It is fast. It is also sensual though. Slow as much as the fevered pitch.

_It is balance._

He weaves it all in, along with these beautiful gillyflowers, some lifting into her fingers now, the others being pressed across her cheeks as he holds her in his grasp now. She reaches out. Touches with a fingertip his cheek. His brow. His chin. Her finger sliding. As he gazes. Looks down. Looks up. Licks his lips. As she presses down upon hers. As he finally kisses her. Mouth wet. Warm.

It is love.

Is it not?

Morgana is love, like a sister. But this kind of love, a man’s love, it is so real, so vivid, so-

“Alright?”

He asks tenderly, tipping her chin.

She stares too long. Too questioning. Scared to feel the black sliminess. Scared to face death and horror. Laughing and-

“I’m alright Arthur.”

That’s enough to make him smile, to make him kiss her again, to lower himself and bring her down too. She gathers some of the petals. Sprinkles them over his chest. Kisses each one. Kisses his warm damp skin. Presses her lips to his flesh. To the petioles.

Whispering…

“You are beautiful.”

He doesn’t counter, just holds her tighter. Letting out a growl of sensual pleasure.

And she doesn’t let go. Of the petals of the wild gorgeous gillyflowers. Of him.

Even as she is determined to follow Morgana’s word.

Even as she loves her _sister_ Morgana.

She queerly

In some deep part of her heart, that an enchantment cannot touch, that coldness of feeling will never conquer…

Loves him.

For getting her gillyflowers.

For making them part of their love bath.

A shower of love.

Of petals.

Of color.

Of passion.

That try as she might…

She cannot deny its furor.

Arthur Pendragon.

Maybe keep him alive a little longer.

Solve this flaming mystery.

Wait until the petals wither away.

Wait until then.

For now…

She presses one hand over his nipple, a gillyflower locked into her fingers and interpolated between his pale snow skin and her sun dripped one.

It makes no sense really to want this, to so strongly desire this, but that one piece of her does. It clutches him and the gillyflowers.

It wants to press them together…

_**Forever**_.  



	8. All

_ _

**All Note** This was a scene extender for 5.09 that was mostly AU, extending to 5.10.

**Shared Chambers: _All_**

_Gwen pushed to get away from him. It hurt, and it made her angry, how he kept forcing his hands upon her. How dare this stupid man keep forcing her to listen to him! Had no right. She didn’t love him. Everything she did, it was for Camelot’s rightful queen. It was for Morgana, who would make everything alright. She would keep away the black slime. Morgana. Not Arthur._

_Oh what was he saying now? Still forcing her to listen, his hands gripping her arms so hard it made her even more furious. He needed to let go! She didn’t want his touch, she didn’t want the black slime to invade. She didn’t want-_

_Wait. Suddenly he was letting go. He said something and his hands were letting go afterward. He said something so potent. So-_

_“With all my heart…”_

_And he kept saying it. She watched with confusion as he backed to the water. But something was lifting. Some cloud over reality, some block on her heart, was slowly ascending. It was sliding past and letting her see again._

_He stopped holding her so hard, and now he just moved to the water, watching her. Watching. Repeating it one last time._

_No. It wasn’t him. It was her. It was coming from her lips. Being whispered out. As she could feel it. The truth, eking its way past the black slime. Gasping to be let go._

_He entered the water, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. And yet there was worry in those eyes. There were touches of fear. He had let her go and now he was scared she might run. She could feel it._

_The other part yanked, clenched, telling her the black slime would cover her body, would take over if she did not listen to her rightful queen._

_She could not though. She could not run away from this. Not from his hand extended, coaxing her to come. To be with him in the water._

_It pulled her feet apart. It made them tread forward. She took each step like a babe first walking. But she made each move, past two others that were there. It did not matter. Her eyes were only for the man standing in the water, waiting._

_She felt herself entering, his fingers grasping hers, his hold so gentle, and yet firm. She feared for a moment. What was she to do, drown?_

_But no. He gestured just with his eyes, with a slight nod of his head to keep going. They told her everything. That she was safe. That he would let no harm come to her. That this was the way it had to be, must be, and she needed to enter more. She needed to fully be in the water._

_So Gwen nodded, and took more steps toward the middle. A voice was coming from behind, not Arthur’s, another one, chanting, yelling words. It was all so foggy though, as something else was so much more vibrant, clear. A cloud just kept lifting. A haze kept blowing away. A heart became unblocked. As whatever that horrid black hanging thing was, disintegrated from her soul._

_Oh._

_She was free. In the water. Free._

_Her husband, her beautiful dear husband standing there just a few feet away. Her Arthur. Her oh so precious Arthur._

_It felt like years since she had seen his face, his strong body. And his eyes, there was so much pain in them now, so much uncertainty. So she smiled with all her new awakening, brought out her hand. Beckoning to him. Come to me my husband. Come to me now. I love you with all my heart. Arthur, come._

_And finally he did. Was. Treading across the water to her, getting there as fast he could. She kept raising her arms to him and then when he was there clasped him against her heart. Held him ever so near. As he grasped her too, held her tightly also._

_It felt like so many moments they stayed that way. In his arms, holding him in her arms, she felt so warm, so loved, so passionate about life. In his embrace all was as it should be. No separation. No ugliness of uncertainty._

_He had to pull away though for a bit, gazing at her still with a tread of uncertainty, even after his relieved sigh, even after his fierce hold. She smiled, touching it with both her hands. “With all my heart Arthur.”_

_The tears formed in his eyes, fell into the healing waters of where they stood. They floated among them, his salt to the fresh flow._

_“With all my heart Guinevere.” He whispered back and he was moving forward again. So was she. Forgotten was anyone past them. Their eyes only could see each others. Their hands found skin and fabric. And their lips came together. She tasted his kiss, his tongue roll into her mouth, as he forgot they had an audience, as that audience discreetly turned away. She could hear his breath clutching, shivering. The waters were cold, but it was more than that which made him shake. Made her too. She waited for the sweet heat of his mouth to be parted from hers, before touching his arm, feeling the strong links of chainmail under her hand._

_“Let’s go home.”_

_He sighed, gathering her by the waist, so they could walk out together…_

…

These were Gwen’s thoughts of remembrance as she and Arthur entered their chambers. She looked down, seeing the mess her royal blue dress was, and noticing how pale his face was. Tired. Both of them so tired.

“Arthur…”

He pulled her against him, bringing his chin over her head. “I’ve missed you.”

That was odd. She knew why he said it. But the oddness was in that she didn’t feel like she had ever totally been gone. If she had, how could she remember Elyan’s death? How could she recall being in bed with her husband, loving him? How? Blurs and yet queer clarity also…how?

“I wasn’t me at all then?” She asked with confusion.

Arthur amended his words quickly. Never once in their bed did he feel his wife wasn’t with him. When they celebrated, when he gave her gillyflowers, all their love makings felt as vivid as ever, no difference, no bit of loss. But now he knew she was in a haze of confusion during that time too, with the most horrid moments completely blacked out it seemed.

“No. It was you. Of course it was you.”

She frowned.

Arthur let out a sigh. She needed to rest. That was all. After all she’d been through, the trek through the woods, his wife required slumber. And at the moment, he wouldn’t mind finding it with her. “Guinevere…let’s just go to sleep.”

She nodded her head quietly. Together, they helped each other with their clothing, got it all off and then put on their sleeping attire. He gazed fondly as she lifted the cream colored material of her nightdress over her naked shoulders, past her exposed breasts. It slid over her thighs, and found her ankles in the end. Then he pulled back the covers.

Gwen gratefully got inside, lifting her arms afterward to him. “Arthur…”

He climbed in too, moving against her side, and taking her into his arms. “Here.”

“Mmm…” She pressed into him, holding his shoulder and chest, her legs tangling with his. She breathed with a hint of complaint, moving against him even more. She’d never needed to be so close. It was like her body wanted to become one with his. Let it be that in sleep.

“Shhhh…” He coaxed, holding her tighter, and getting her to finally still. “I’m here, alright? Always here Guinevere.”

She thought of Elyan for a moment and burrowed harder into him, a sob escaping her mouth.

“Guin…” His hand kept stroking at her hair, his fingers tangling into the curls. They would both need a bath later without a doubt, but for now, to just be close to her, was what felt right. Hearing her start to cry though, that brought on a plague of pain.

“Elyan. I can’t believe he’s gone. I’ve felt the pain of him being torn from me, but now it’s sharper and now-

“I know.” If he could hate someone, completely, a _part_ of his heart now did hate Morgana. Oh it hurt, her betrayal, but the anger was there too. Full of fury like a thunder cloud that swelled with torment. It was one thing to come after him, but after his Guinevere? No. Not his love.

Guinevere never once hurt anyone, especially Morgana, and that was how she was repaid, with evil treads of sorcery. _Well gauge your war carefully Morgana_ , he thought, _because you made the mistake by going after my wife. I won’t let you touch her ever again._

“Arthur…”

“Oh.” He pulled her harder against him, kissing her lips as his hands pressed against her cheeks. Just like her, he wanted no separation.

“Arthur, how long was I under Morgana’s influence?” Gwen pressed her hand against her husband’s chest, stroking the finely haired skin. “I don’t remember the exact amount of time. I know some things I did and felt then, but a lot of it too is foggy and-

“Guinevere.” He whispered quietly, to get her to be silent.

“How long Arthur?”

He let out a wearied sigh. “Some weeks, close to a month.”

She echoed his words, with surprise, and dread. “Close to a month?”

“Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “Now don’t dwell on it.”

He brought her in tighter against him as he shifted his head on his pillow to be comfortable, to make sure she could relax her head upon hers. But then-

“And in that time, what exactly did I do? So deeply under her influence, how did I serve her?”

He was trying to close his eyes, but her words wouldn’t let him. Bringing his hand through his hair tensely, he looked, seeing her eyes fixedly on his, needing to know. He didn’t want to tell her though, didn’t want to hurt, didn’t want to burden. She had the purest most beautiful heart he ever knew. She gave it to him entirely when she married him. And Morgana played with that. She stabbed it with her dark magic. She turned his Guinevere into her puppet of choice. But the witch should have known. No way would his wife ever totally succumb to her whims. She was stronger of soul than that.

_And yet…_

“You just did some things that she wanted you to.”

“Did I hurt anyone?”

Seeing the plead in his wife’s eyes, hearing the ache in her voice, Arthur felt the wetness well in his. This was worse than just trying to kill someone. Morgana tried to twist his wife’s soul. She had no right. No right at all. “No. You hurt no one.”

“Arthur-

He grasped her arms. “Guinevere, it helps none to talk about it. It’s over. That’s all that matters. Morgana can hurt you no more.”

Gwen sighed, seeing that as hard as this was for her, it was equally hard for him. He was making it about his guilt very possibly that he hadn’t protected her well enough. “Arthur, did I hurt you?”

He shook his head hard.

Seeing that this was maybe too much, Gwen moved forward on the bed, cupped her husband’s face. “Arthur?”

“No.”

And she knew he was lying. His eyes averting themselves from her. She knew.

“That’s not true.”

Arthur lifted his head some, focusing on the ceiling. He now knew she poisoned him. But to him it wasn’t really Guinevere that poisoned him anyway. It was Morgana. Because it was Morgana’s will. It was Morgana that killed Tyr and that young boy. It was Morgana who set everything up because of her sick lust for the throne.

Arthur ruled with pride sometimes, but mostly with his heart, he tried. He wanted to protect Camelot, protect what his father created, even with all his faults. He wanted to rule over the greatest kingdom he ever knew with love at his side, with his wife giving him council and showing her firm authority that balanced of heart.

“You didn’t do it. Morgana did.”

Her expression was a frown. Arthur pulled her against him. “Can we sleep now? Guinevere?”

She stroked his cheek, to the line of his hair, seeing the weariness there, the treads of worry. He could not tell her this. She was seeking out the wrong person. Arthur did not have the strength of heart to do it. “Yes. Let’s sleep my husband.”

He nodded with relief, pulling her against him, and feeling her hold him in return.

Sleep. That’s all they needed. Everything was over.

All done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A knock.

“Come in.”

Merlin gave a small smile. “My Lady, you need me to do something for you, the laundering, the-

She put up her hand. “No.” Arthur was at a council meeting. Usually she would attend too, but he insisted that she get more rest after her ordeal. She didn’t fight him on it, wanting this moment.

“Then what is it I can help you with, um, my Lady-

“Merlin- Her brow crinkled. “We are friends still, yes?”

He stopped all his fussing, focusing in on her troubled expression. She looked the same as always, beautiful in her lavender dress, but she also looked troubled. No wonder after what she’d been through.

“Merlin?”

He smiled softly, taking a step forward to meet her extended hand. “Yes Gwen. Of course we are.”

She nodded her head with conviction, leading him further into the room so he could sit at the table. She sat at the bench that sat near the window, adored with lavender fixings. “Good. Then you will tell me the truth.”

Merlin frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

She cleared her throat, like how her whole mind was starting to clear now, but needed more answers. “What happened when I was under her influence Merlin? I know the time I spent with my husband. And I know bits and pieces. I know Elyan died…” Her voice broke. “In my arms…I know that. But what I can’t recall is what I did for Morgana. And yet I know I had to have done much. If I hadn’t, it would not have lasted so long. I must have been successful in some things. So please Merlin, what did I do?”

Merlin could see his friend’s pain clearly, but this was not right. Arthur might not like it. “It’s not me you should be asking, Gwen. It’s Arthur.”

She shook her head profusely. “No Merlin, don’t you see? Arthur will not speak of it. He doesn’t want to hurt me anymore. But I must know Merlin. There’s this darkness there, this haze of feeling. Something horrible pulling me into this abyss, but it goes no further beyond. There are no answers. All I want are answers Merlin. So I can live my life with understanding.” She got up from the seat.

Merlin could see the tears in his friend’s eyes, heard the quake of emotion when she mentioned Elyan. It was so vivid to him, how Gwen was now fully Gwen again. So soft, so gentle, so firm, so determined. And someone who would recoil at what she did during Morgana’s influence. He got up from the table, shaking his head. “Gwen, I’m sorry-

She ran forward though, catching his hands, slowly turning him around. “Merlin, please.” She reached out, touched his cheek. “Please. I must know. _Please_.”

Her eyes were so big, so needing, and he felt himself having no choice. Yielding to them even as he feared this might be wrong. Not what Arthur wanted. Even as-

“Merlin.”

Even as there was no choice but to tell her. He gestured back to the lounge seat. “Sit down Gwen.” Then he moved his chair forward, sitting directly across from her. “You were under Morgana’s influence. Keep that in mind, alright? You couldn’t control it.”

She nodded, gesturing for him to continue. So Merlin did, painfully, uncomfortably. He told her the truth. When it came to the part where she poisoned Arthur, he watched her clutch her heart and stomach in revulsion.

“Oh God.”

Merlin brought out his hands, grasping at hers. “Gwen. You were not yourself. You did not mean to hurt him.”

“But if I had succeeded-

Tears fell down her cheeks.

“No. Gaius was able to stop it. That’s all that matters.”

She frowned, but gestured for him to go on. So Merlin did, coming to the part where he was put in the cells.

“Oh.” It wasn’t easy to hear. None of it was really. This horrible feeling she had, that was what Arthur was trying to protect her from. She knew it, but to sentence her own friend to death for something she actually did, that was horrid to find out. “Merlin I’m so sorry. You must know I would never want to hurt you. And I would never believe that you could even think of hurting Arthur. Merlin…”

He sighed, grasping her hand again, getting her to focus on him. One of the lightest moments of his life had been turning into the Dolma and ending this disgusting spell. Seeing Gwen and Arthur embrace, feeling their love even from so many steps away.

He knew of course it hadn’t really been Gwen doing all those awful things. It was Morgana’s influence, Morgana’s twisting of magic. He needed to get her to see that now.

“Gwen, I know you wouldn’t. I told you, that you can’t think it was you. Because it wasn’t. It was Morgana, Gwen. She enchanted you to do all those things, using the mandrake, using-

“You’re leaving something out Merlin.”

He was. Tyr. Merlin met Tyr through Gwen, years ago. She and he had been friends for quite some time. This would be the worst for her to hear. He was hoping to spare her from it.

“Merlin…you must tell me. I mean, how did it all start? What did I accuse you of exactly? Wanting to kill Arthur…but…the part before, it’s blurred. What was going on there?”

Finally he told her. He told her how Tyr was accused of tampering with Arthur’s horse. How Tyr was killed before the truth could be revealed.

“But who would do that-who-

Merlin didn’t even have to show a troubled expression. Gwen knew by his silence, by the awful heaviness that lay in the air.

“Oh no-

She pressed her hand against her mouth, tears rolling from her eyes. “No Merlin…please-

He grasped her hand tighter, pulling at his friend to bring her up from the lounge. “Gwen…”

“Oh for the love of Camelot… _no_ …”

“Shhhh…” He pulled her in against him, somewhat awkwardly rubbing her back, knowing that if the king came in now, despite understanding they shared a friendship, he might just be a little peeved.

Gwen looked up into his eyes, seeing Merlin’s comfort there, but also feeling the horror of what she did. “How?”

Merlin shook his head.

So she asked it more pointedly, telling him she would not relent until he gave her clear answer. “How, Merlin? Tell me.”

It was the kind of firmness she used as queen, that she just somehow had so strongly in her, even though she started life as a servant. “Stabbed. He was stabbed.”

_“Oh.”_ Gwen pushed away from him, going to the window, but faltering before she could get there, her mind and heart filled with so much revulsion. Flooded by it that she clutched her stomach. “Oh my God.”

Merlin reached out to her again, but Gwen pushed with her hand to keep him away, shaking her head. “No. Don’t.”

He stayed still, bouncing uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Gwen. It was Morgana’s influence.” He told her firmly. “You had no choice. I know that. Arthur knows that. It was the mandrake. They tamper with your mind. They grasp control of it and fill it with the darkest horrors. Gwen, men stronger than you physically, trained to endure such terrors could not stand it. You had no way to fight it Gwen. You cannot blame yourself.”

Still holding her stomach, she turned back to him now, her face flooded with tears, her brows wrenched in pain. “How do you know so much?”

Merlin swallowed. “Gaius told me.”

Gwen stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head. “Tyr’s mother? Gelda? How is she?”

Merlin cocked his head to the side for a moment. “She’s alright. I’ve been seeing to her, making sure she has friends around. It’s been hard. But she’s starting to heal bit by bit.”

Gwen nodded her head, asking, “And was he properly buried?”

“Yes. I made sure of it. Arthur too when he knew that Tyr did him no wrong.”

“Good.” Gwen whispered. But it wasn’t enough. She had to do more. She just didn’t know what yet.

Looking up, she told him quietly, her voice shaking, “I’m so sorry Merlin. I’m so sorry for what you must have gone through with all that, Tyr dying and then feeling like your own life was in danger. I’m sorry for all that.”

Merlin shook his head hard, gasping his friend, the queen’s hand. “Gwen, I don’t want you to tell me that. Because you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t-

“Someone stabbed Tyr, Merlin. Me.”

“No.” Merlin told her strongly. Shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter who physically did it. You didn’t do it with this.” He gestured carefully to her heart, not touching it, but bringing his hand over.

“You didn’t want to do it. And so it was not you. It was her. And one day she will be sorry for causing all this pain. One day she will…”

His look was so far away, like it often was now, distant, alone. Gwen brought out her hand, touched her friend’s shoulder, trying to bring him back from whatever far-away place he went to often now. “Merlin…”

Seeing her tentative smile, he smiled now too, gathering her into his arms again. “We’re all going to be okay, Gwen. Everything will be.”

She was thinking of things. Pondering on possibilities. “Yes, we will be. I’m going to need your help, but everything will be alright. Somehow.”

Merlin knew she was hurting still, in such pain because she was a person of such good truth of heart, and it was not easy for her to hear the veracity of what the mandrake could do. But there was no way he could have held it back. She would have found out, and better at least to hear it from a friend.

“Are you going to tell Arthur-

She pressed her hand against his shoulder. “No. Not yet anyway. Arthur has tried to keep all this from me. For good reason. Loving reason. So please don’t tell him either.”

Merlin smiled, needing to tease, hoping it could bring out her laughter. “No. Never even told him about that time you kissed me.”

She _did_ laugh now, a burst of needed release. Couldn’t hold it back, her face filling with wonder. Innocence of long ago. “Oh Merlin, that was so many years ago!”

“You had a crush on me.” He was blushing some now as he said it, but teasing still.

Gwen shook her head. “No. I was just young and maybe a little besotted. You weren’t as arrogant as Arthur then.”

He smiled fully, before reaching out, touching her shoulder. “You’re alright?”

Alright? What was that even? There was something so terrible about living your life for weeks and only having minimal control over it. “I’m okay. Thank you Merlin for telling me it all.”

He didn’t really. Not so much about the part where the Druid boy died too, where she plotted with that awful king. But enough. Gwen heard enough. It was all Morgana’s doing anyway.

The part of him that was Emrys was determined to one day fully stop her. To never let this kind of pain happen again.

“Just remember Gwen. It wasn’t you. Don’t forget that okay? It was _NEVER_ you.”

She nodded with shaky resolution. “I won’t forget. Thank you Merlin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After her talk with Merlin about the truth of what had happened, Gwen did her best to make things right. With Elyan, all had been put into place already. He received the fitting knight’s send off to Avalon and beyond, that he should. Yet much of it was a blur.

So Gwen went back there herself one day. To send him off her own way, personally. It was a morning when Arthur was out of Camelot and so she was able to depart from the castle without much fuss. Taking her horse, she rode to the spot. Once there, she stepped toward the water, memories floating through her heart…

_Of course he was no longer there. He had been taken to the waters, his body a pyre, but somehow she could still feel his presence, perhaps in her soul and so she smiled softly, looking around at all the nature, the forest trees, the blooming flowers, and hearing the trickles of lake movement._

_She whispered._

_“Do you remember when we were children Elyan? You were full of dreams always. I used to tell you sometimes to stop dreaming and start working, start doing your duty. Well you came to do that and more my brother. You were a knight of Camelot and I’ve never been more proud of you than when Arthur laid the sword down upon your shoulder and you became Sir Elyan._

_You and I we did not always talk enough. We did not always spend the time together we should. You and I lived so differently at times, but we always came back to each other. Like when we went to go visit with Dad._

_Oh Elyan…” She pressed her hand against her heart._

_“I miss you so much. I feel a void in the knights now and I know they feel it too. Even Gwaine is more sober, thinking less of food.” She let out a trickle of laughter._

_“Arthur is more protective.” She went on lifting her head some, shivering a tad. “Percival wears glimmers of sadness.”_

_“I remember so little of the dark tower. Arthur and Merlin say that’s for the best. That it was a place where bad things happened. I know that. I know what Morgana did there took a hold of me in awful ways._

_But what I do remember of it is…” Her hand shook, the tears falling down her cheeks._

_“Is watching you fall. And running to catch you. I remember holding you in my arms and begging Heaven to not take you from me. Pleading with Avalon to let you stay. I remember that because those feelings were MY heart. They could not be tampered with.”_

_There were treads of anger in her now along with the pain. She had felt herself experiencing it more, as she came to understand fully what Morgana had done to her. She took away her own conviction. But not even the darkest magic could fully steal her heart. It was there with Arthur in moments of love._

_Oh the waking hours, the easy bits of day, it was a subterfuge, yes, but not in their bed, not when he kissed her, not when he loved her. Not all of that was some blade of pretend._

_And it was never any blade of pretend either when Elyan ceased to breathe._

_“I love you Elyan. And I am so proud of you. In your last hours you were the knight you wanted to be. You were a man of courage and honor. And no one shall ever forget that. I shall not. But beyond that, you were my brother, my family, my last connection to Dad, and because of that, my heart will have one tiny little hole in it. One more to join with the one that came from the loss of Dad. With that, I will always, forever remember you, live and love you.”_

_She bent her knees, dropping the flowers into the water, watching the gentle waves take them, watching them float away until they could no longer be seen._

_Until…_

_“Goodbye my Elyan. Goodbye for now. One day we will see each other again, be with Dad, and my heart will rejoice. May Avalon’s blessings always hold you safe and dear.”_

…

Gwen could remember that now as she sat upon the corner of the bed in hers and Arthur’s chambers. That was personal. That was her family. Beyond, in the past days, she had done more. She went to Tyr’s mother and confessed what no one else knew. She told her how the spell had taken her faculty and made her do that horrible deed. Now Tyr’s mother was a kind woman, but also a grieving one. She politely asked her to leave before Gwen could talk to her further. When she didn’t right away, Tyr’s mother rose with anguish, and so Gwen did leave the woman in peace.

It hurt that Tyr’s mother may never like her again, but Gwen didn’t care to indulge in her own sorrow. She instead enlisted Merlin to help her get a statue made. It would stand outside the stables, a likeness of Tyr and the horses he loved tending to. It would be simple, like Tyr, workmanship quality, like Tyr, but it would be a beautiful reminder of how special he was to Camelot.

Beyond that, Gwen made certain that Gelda's house be forever in her keeping. No one could take her home away from her. And past that even, without Tyr’s assistance in such matters anymore, she put in place an architect to fix any structural problems of the house and to keep a close eye for future ones.

Earlier that afternoon Gwen had been walking through the citadel, exchanging conversation with the merchants, and visiting with the people when a voice called out to her.

_“My Lady…”_

_Wearing her burgundy riding dress, Gwen walked over quickly, although a bit unsure. “Gelda…how are you?”_

_The elder woman smiled. “I am doing well enough my Lady. Could I have just a tiny moment of your time?”_

_Gwen nodded. “Of course.”_

_Then she entered Gelda’s house with her. Before she could take much a look around, Gelda was moving to her knees. “I am sorry my Lady for treating you so wrongly before. I had no call to excuse you from my home. Please forgive me.”_

_Gwen stared down at the elder woman who when she was a girl would invite her for dinner, and who used to talk to her so familiarly. But now there was protocol and bits of division._

_Still, Gwen bent some, reaching out her hand to take the other woman’s. “Gelda, please don’t. I am still Gwen.” She lifted at her to get her to stand. “You had every right. You were grieving. I understand that well enough after losing Elyan. There is no need for apology. I only hope that those bits I’ve done have helped some. Tyr will never be forgotten.”_

_Gelda smiled, tears glowing in her eyes. “Thanks to you my Lady. You are the most gracious and wonderful queen Camelot could ever have.”_

_Gwen shook her head, but said nothing. Then they sat down together, enjoying a bit of sweet bread and tea. Oh Gelda fussed about her so much still, now that she was queen. But for a few moments she actually forgot, calling her Gwen again, which made Gwen smile._

Now all that was done, everything she needed to put closure upon after the water and the sorceress’s freeing of her from Morgana’s grasp. Oh Morgana. There was a time Gwen still cared for her. But no more.

Perhaps she pitied her, but she no longer held the woman in regard. Morgana was cold, vicious, and nearly insane with her lust for Arthur’s throne. He was her brother and she would hurt him so? Taking away the woman he loved.

And what about the interactions of kindness they once shared? Morgana just forgot it all. That she could think she would use her as some puppet to mastermind everything she wanted, that she would use her to kill her own husband? The man she loved with all her heart.

No, Morgana was nothing more than a foe now. Someone to shriek at. And someone that sadly one day would have to be stopped.

With that grim thought Gwen heard the door open to their chambers. She looked back to see her husband, his handsome face smiling at her, before it furrowed into a frown. He knew her too well.

“Guinevere what is it?”

She moved to the window, seeing it starting now. The rain falling from the heavens. It would be one of Camelot’s first storms of the latter months that would lead to winter.

“Guinevere?” His hand was on her waist. She turned around to see his shaking worry.

“I know about Tyr.”

Arthur stared at her in shock. Everyone was sworn to secrecy. That it would not be spoken of ever again. That-

“How?”

“Merlin.”

Arthur’s look was furious. He started to stalk from the room, but Gwen caught his arm. “I asked him Arthur. I wanted to know. Do not be angry with him. He was reluctant to tell me, but as my friend, he revealed it. I left him no choice. I plead for the truth.”

Arthur squeezed her hands, his expression still troubled and questioning. “Why? Why would you want to know?”

“Because a life was taken, Arthur. Taken from his mother. Taken wrongly.”

He sighed, looking up to the ceiling, and then squarely in her eyes again. “You had no part of that.”

“I was the one who probably stabbed him.”

Arthur shook his head furiously. He hadn’t told her because of this. He didn’t want her to believe that she did anything horrible. Merlin should have kept his mouth shut, but he could see how persuasive his wife must have been, just by her need. She was quite good at that. “What you say is not true. You did not do such thing.”

Gwen smiled softly, walking toward her husband, clasping his waist with her hands, a bit surprised to see that at the moment he was wearing just his white tunic, not his chainmail which was the usual during the afternoon hours. “If I did, would you even tell me?”

His mouth had a firm flat line, his eyes looking around before they fixed back on her. It was answer enough.

Gwen pressed upon her toes, leaning in and kissing his lips quickly. “You would not. I know that because you love me.”

“Guinevere-

She put up her hand. “It’s fine. Arthur, I know that I was under a spell when all this happened. I have accepted that. But I still had to right the wrongs. Can you see that?”

Arthur nodded, saying nothing, and Gwen told him about what she had done for Tyr’s mother and how she went back to where Elyan had been laid to rest so she could properly say goodbye to him. Then she told him that these things were important to her to do, for they put closure upon the control Morgana had over her those days. Closure upon the pain it caused.

“That abounding heart of yours never fails to amaze me.” He told her when she was done explaining about the statue and everything else. Then he wrapped her into his arms. They stood silently for long moments, within their encircling chambers.

Then suddenly he spoke some interesting words.

“Fancy a picnic?”

Gwen pulled back from him with a furrow to her brow, gesturing to the window. “In case you haven’t noticed my dear husband, it is raining steadily outside. Now I doubt very highly you’re thinking to have a picnic in the mud.”

He laughed softly, rubbing her back with his fingers. “You’re right on that. I was thinking we could have it here.”

Her eyes widened and then suddenly he was calling out. In with precision of movement came George, all of the picnic attire in his hands. Arthur gave a small frown.

“Had to be George. You gave Merlin the whole week off.”

Gwen told him strongly, “Well he deserved it after all he had been through.”

Arthur’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, but George is very boring. And he does his job too well sometimes.”

She eyed him questioningly. “How can one do their job too well?”

Arthur pointed. “Watch.”

And so she did. George put down the blanket and all the food, settling everything into place, and then stepping back to assess. Not quite happy with the set-up, he rearranged it all. Then not quite happy with that, he rearranged some things some more.

“See what I mean?”

Arthur asked dryly as Gwen pushed her hand against her mouth to keep from giggling. It was quite amusing certainly.

“I mean, why are the grapes better on the left side and the meats are better on the right? Who really cares about these things.”

Gwen grinned. “George.”

“And on top of that Guinevere, he gets my armor so it gleams.”

“And that’s a problem?” Gwen asked with questioning bemusement.

“Yes!” Arthur let out excitedly. “It’s supposed to look at least a little worn. Adds knightly character. Merlin _NEVER_ polishes it for so long that it shines that much!”

She giggled. “You’re missing your servant.”

“Bite your tongue.”

Her eyebrows came up.

He gave a saucy smile. “On second thought, how about I give a little bite of those ruby lips that-

He stopped mid sentence. George was rushing around them to get the pillows. Both Guinevere and him, just mouths inches away from each other, stopped to watch the spectacle.

George gathered all the decorated pillows together and plumped them up so they were quite fluffy. Then he scanned the picnic spot, one eye focusing sharply as the other closed to give it precise direction.

“I swear, it’s like he’s going into battle.”

Gwen hit at her husband’s chest to keep from giggling.

“Ow.”

“Quiet.”

George mouthed a silent _ah-ha_ and placed the pillows in strategic spots of comfort. Then he stepped back from his _masterpiece_ and gestured politely. “My Lord. My Lady. Is it to your satisfaction?”

Gwen stepped forward, smiling graciously. “It is wonderful George. Absolutely perfect.”

George gave one of his straight acknowledging smiles at that. Then he walked to the king. “Shall I get your coat Sire? Another tunic? Perhaps a cloak? Or-

Arthur eyed Guinevere sharply, silently saying with his eyes, _Do you see what I mean?_ Before he smiled too at George. “No George. That is enough.”

“Very well Sire. I shall go now to make certain that your armor shines impeccably. If either of you shall require any more of my services please do not hesitate to call upon me. And now I shall be off.”

He was… _off_ …with a bounding step of energy and protocol.

Arthur groaned, leaning against the bedpost after George was gone, muttering with exasperation, “I want Merlin back. George will drive me batty by the end of the week. I don’t want _gleaming_ armor!”

Gwen giggled, catching her husband’s waist, and then gesturing to the picnic. It was so beautifully laid out upon the floor. So perfectly. She was almost afraid to touch any of it. _Almost_. “Well come on then.”

Before she could take more than two steps forward, he was grasping at her legs and waist, and she felt herself bounce upward into his arms.

“Arthur!” She giggled.

He pointed down to the floor with mock seriousness. “Oh but Guinevere! Do you not see the pond? I shall carry you over it so you will not get wet.”

She smiled widely at him, whispering. “You’ve spent too much time with George.”

Arthur let in dryly. “I’m surprised he didn’t use the pillows to lay out a path for us.”

She giggled some more and kissed his cheek twice. “Well I don’t mind. I happen to love your chivalrous nature.”

He grinned with satisfaction. “Well there we go then.”

Her fingers clasped to his neck and shoulder until he lowered her down to the pillows. Settling against them, she lifted her hands, gesturing for him to join her quickly. With a grin Arthur did.

The food was delicious. They delved into each dish or bowl, feeding each other too at certain intervals.

Finally each could enjoy. She had put closure on her time of Morgana’s occupation. Her overwhelming and abounding love was for her husband.

She gazed down now at his hands with admiration. They were so big, so finely lined. Scars here and there, tiny ones to be barely noticeable. But they were also not so rough to scrape her skin. Soft enough to hold her tenderly every time they did. Her gaze turned to his face. It had changed some in the past years. It was receiving its lines of age now more profoundly. She paid it no mind. She actually liked it. They made him appear more handsome, gave him golden maturity. And within it all he was still a boy often. Needing her assistance to find things as mundane as his comb or red tunic. Or perhaps just being silly enough to play out that act.

His gaze came to her and she smiled as he asked curiously. “You’re watching me?”

Gwen nodded faintly, stroking his hand with her own. “I am.”

“Why?”

“You are beautiful.”

He blushed some at that, before lifting from the pillows, bringing his back up straight. “You are more.” He whispered quietly, catching a curl on his finger, delighting at its soft coarse texture. And his bottom lip trembling a bit.

“Arthur?”

He held it a little more tightly, his other hand grasping her chin and cheek. “I was a little more scared then than I want to admit.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed. “Well you were no less loving, but after a while I could just _feel_ it. Something was not right. There were things that no longer concerned you and that was not my Guinevere. She wouldn’t dismiss so easily.”

Gwen frowned. “Terrible things?”

He shook his head. “No. Just…never mind it. Anyway, I spoke to Merlin and he finally confessed his and Gaius’s suspicions.”

Gwen’s hands were in her lap, clasping tightly to each other as she lowered her head a bit. “I was awful to Merlin during that time. My friend and I treated him like nothing such.”

Arthur grimaced, but said nothing. Gwen could see though that his mind or heart was delved deep into some wonder.

“Arthur?”

He scooted closer on the blanket, keeping hold of her curl and cheek. “When you woke you were so angry. So upset. Every time I tried to hold you closer you sought to break away from me. I didn’t want to admit it then, but I was afraid I might lose you forever.”

“Arthur…” Her hand lifted, found his face, tendered against it. Such tightness in it. The lines so prominent with pain.

“And I couldn’t take that. I knew I was being forceful. I feared I might hurt you, but I just needed to pull you back to me. I needed my Guinevere back.”

She could hear the knife’s stabbing in his voice, the wound of ache, and it reached her heart, making her clasp it. Making her seek his lips. Kiss them. “Oh Arthur. I’m always here.”

She brushed away the tears that suddenly came from his eyes. Delved into them reverently. “Always Arthur.”

Relief flooded his mind with those words, that touch. It’s true what he just said. Those moments he was of iced fear. The Dolma kept telling him he had to let her go, it had to be of her free will, but it hurt so hard to do it. Made his heart pang like a hammer was hitting it over and over again.

“And that’s when it came to me.” He whispered to her now, pulling away to let her see his face.

“What?” Gwen asked, holding him in her grasp, holding him close.

“What you said when I asked you to marry me. It came because in those moments when you wouldn’t walk with me to the waters, I could feel my heart being hammered. It made me so afraid at first. And then I felt an inch of calm. Of quiet resolve.

“You said to me…”

She pressed her hand against his lip, her memory full now, her love complete. “With all my heart. That is what I said. With all my heart Arthur.”

He nodded. “With all my heart. And finally I saw it register. As I let you go. As I backed to the water. I saw it in your eyes. I saw it fill your body. I saw it light your face. I saw it make your heart beat faster. I saw it. And yet I still feared. I still-

He lowered his head and so she caught it with her hands, brought it back up gently, a new trail of tears there to join her own.

And she whispered. “I’m here my husband. I’m here my Arthur. My love.”

He echoed it shakily. _“My love.”_ His mouth pressed against hers. His foot kicked away the forgotten dishes.

She clasped him tightly so his white tunic chest met her breasts. Their legs commenced to tangle. The pillows supported the new positioning of their bodies.

They lay together on the blanket, upon the cushions, but with no stillness. Frenzied hands clasped and squeezed. Like the rain outside, loved rained inside.

In the sweat of the makings of love. The glistening of revealed bodies. Skin upon skin, they thrust and vibrated. They cried out and bit down. Pulsing to each other they loved with passion’s fire, the only cooling, the tenderness of wandering hands.

They whispered words of secret eroticism and adoration combined. They opened eyes to see the action of the other. His lips on her nipple. Her hand thumping his manhood. A kiss upon lips. And through it all they could feel it. That ache of never-ending love. The kind that consumes so fully there is no end to it, no beginning, no mark.

It lived flush in their bodies from the first kiss and it lived there now in the moments of husband and wife secret interaction.

When his actions between her thighs, upon her woman’s bud of fervent feeling, made her head fall back, her curls falling in carnal disarray, he observed with a man’s groan of observance. And when she got him to bead with reaction, she enjoyed his trembling of excitement.

This was their love, uncontained, beautifully wild and giving to its seeking. This was their love, so aching with release and containment, so swollen with passion, that it filled their chambers now. Like carnal rain. Like intimate showers.

And when they lay later together, in entwined satiation, bodies still half glistening, limbs still coiled together, and naked, falling to slumber, they murmured to each…

“With all my heart…”

With _all_ their hearts.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~


	9. Indulgences

_ _

**Indulgences Note** This was inspired by episode 5.10, filling in the missing pieces. Note Arthur's memories below are supposed to fully italicized, but Archive of Our Own is resisting the HTML so I decided to let it go. I think when it's read it's kind of obvious where the memory is, hopefully anyway. :)

**Shared Chambers: _Indulgences_**

Morning comes to which he wakes early, but she still slumbers and he feels no rush to get her to join him. It has been a little more than a week since the cleansing ritual, the Dolma ending Morgana’s spell. When they first returned home there were for sure bits of confusion. The loving moments, the truest moments that were produced by the depths of her fighting heart, his wife could remember with more clarity. It was those moments of puppet control, of Morgana’s dreadful influence to cause harm, even death, that his wife had little to no recall of.

She wanted him to tell her everything, but he had no ease with that at all. So she went to Merlin and got the gist of what she wanted to know most. Arthur couldn’t help but be angry at Merlin for a bit before his wife showed him why it was so important that she understand more about what happened during that time. With her good heart she did her best to make amends for anything that needed it and in that way was able to personally move past the horror.

Not everything was remedied though, which is why now he lets her sleep. Sometimes in the middle of the night she has awful dreams, or when waking quietly complains about disturbing thoughts when trying to sleep. They are the aftertaste of the spell and at times can be wretched and cause bits of insomnia. They anger him often as even her horrid experience in the darktower becomes a little more vivid. Within all that is her not loud, but solid grief of losing her brother. During the time of the spell she was not really able to properly mourn his loss so it is only now she can feel it honestly. And yet as is the norm for his wife, it is quiet and almost properly humble, her pain of loss.

The past week especially, during a time of not so many kingdom issues, Arthur has done his best to spend the bulk of it with his wife, treating her lovingly to different experiences of pleasure for both of them. A picnic in the wood, with Merlin attending, but then making himself scarce when romance grew to its ultimate height between him and his wife. Meals in bed. Walks along the coastline or maybe a ride to the ocean’s beachfront.

Sometimes he almost forgets how beautiful a place Camelot is. With its surrounding evergreen forest, its bordering rivers and its beauty of architecture, it is a true sight to behold. One to enjoy with love at your side.

After he sends Merlin off, he studies his wife more. As she is in everything, Guinevere has rare kind of beauty.

Something unknown, he noticed it actually when they were growing up. Guinevere had always lived in Camelot, but it was her father’s expertise in sword making that brought them to the center, where the most exciting things happened.

Just a year past that he imagined it was that Guinevere became Morgana’s handmaiden. She was different in that too from the others. It wasn’t rare for the handmaidens to go into the depths of the castle to gossip without being found. Arthur sometimes listened in as he frequented there too secretly when he wanted to get away from one useless servant after another. And to get away from his father’s anger when another foolish servant ran running for the hills because Arthur Pendragon was so _*scary*_. Ha ha.

Never once though when he would go down there did he find Guinevere joining in with them. Actually, never did he hear her whisper a contrary thing about Morgana. Her faithfulness to her lady was so heart driven that it was something to be admired. Maybe even feel a bit jealousy at. None of his servants regarded him that way…not as a friend anyway.

Guinevere too liked flowers and that was the way he found her years ago, picking flowers in the middle of the wood, the first time they actually talked more than the formal greetings conducted within the castle.

She had so many bunches that she was dropping them, her face pinching with unhappiness before she calmly let some go and stooped down to rearrange the fallen ones. Getting an idea quickly it seemed, she gathered them within her red and white dress’s apron quietly.

_“Need some help?"_

The quiet blew up. His presence and what he thought was his muting voice strongly alarmed her, making her drop every single flower. Then she abruptly moved down to her knee. “My Lord.”

He shook his head, giving a wry smile. “Do you…need some?” He couldn’t help it, making his voice sound insistent. From the time he could speak his father taught him to never sound shaky or irresolute, always give voice like one in command, for one day he would be.

As his voice got that bit of grating edge he could see, even though she hid it quite well, that she was a bit put off by it. “No need my Lord.”

She moved down to two knees, saying nothing more as she gathered the flowers, but he could tell her hands were now shaking.

A few of the gillyflowers seemed to leap out of her trembling hands, falling to the ground once more. He took a step forward, his fourteen year old body just a bit taller than her equally aged one. “You don’t always have to call me that. Especially since I’m not even close to being crown prince yet. You can refer to me as Arthur. I don’t mind.”

Now she looked up and he smiled as he could see that her dark curls, although bound back, many were betraying the ribbon tie, and falling forward freely, tickling at her nose. He gave a slight gasp as she pushed them back suddenly, harshly, away.

“Guinevere?”

“It’s Gwen.”

He handed her some of the flowers, noticing how she kept her hand far away from his as she took them into her grasp.

“But I thought you were first announced as Guinevere?”

She looked up at him again, a pinch to her face. She probably was thinking about how even though he had seen her many times in the hallway he never bothered to call her by name. Not until…now. No bother ever before. He was always like that. But her disapproval didn’t quite feel so right. She was a servant girl, really nothing more, but still…something different.

“It is my given name Prince Arthur. But I am Gwen. It is what everyone calls me.”

“Oh.” So he’d just call her Gwen from now on. Yeah.

Hmmm. Guinevere fit better. Taking a look again at her face, he was sure of it.

She nodded and then oddly enough started to spout it out. “These are gillyflowers, my favorite really. The Lady Morgana loves them too. They’re as gleaming as your armor.”

His eyes widened. She continued in a rush.

“Well not your armor specifically. I didn’t mean that of course. I just meant armor…because it gleams…shines like…lightning.” Her nose scrunched up, her eyebrows pitching with uncertainty. It was a burst of nervousness and then it was gone, her face falling back down to concentrate on her task.

He helped her gather more, feeling a bit of nature’s presence and her quiet not really disturbing, but more calming on his busy mind and always ready for action body. Just sitting with her, collecting the flowers, he could almost hear his breathing. Relax in it. They got to the last of them and she started to get up, but he grasped her wrist.

“Gwen?”

She peered down at him, biting her lip some with more uncertainty. It once again didn’t sound quite right, and yet he let it go.”Remember…you can call me Arthur. Like if you need something sometime or whatnot. You can call me…Arthur.”

She stared down at him for a moment and he gently let her wrist go. Then after giving a slight, almost not there, nod, with her gillyflowers clutched in her apron, she left him, alone.

It was maybe a year later he was being bullish with one of his many annoying servants. He was using him for target practice while she was outside too, tending to the launderings. An unhappy look crossed her face, and it must have bordered on disapproving, because one of his friends noticed with a sneer.

“What are you looking at Servant girl? Put your nose back in your work.”

She frowned at his friend, but then turned away.

“You shouldn’t talk to her like that.”

“What, she’s a servant Arthur!”

“She’s Morgana’s handmaiden, and also a girl and she’s just trying to do her work.”

“Yeah, and looking at you like what you’re doing is wrong. As she isn’t an inch of royalty, she has no call to do that.”

Arthur didn’t say anything more, changing the way of the conversation and actually ending the display with his hapless servant. Then when it all was done and his friend excused himself to take care of some tasks for his father, Arthur walked over to Guinevere. She was scrubbing at a dress, her attention totally upon it.

“Hello Gwen.”

He couldn’t help notice how she didn’t look up right away. It took a few moments before she faced him, giving a somewhat curtsy, as awkward it was while she was centered on her work.

“My Lord.”

He studied her for a moment, noticing how in the hot summer sun she was sweating some, having to wipe at her brow a lot and her dress one of her thinner ones to ward off some of the awful muggy heat. “Was my friend right? You didn’t really approve of what was going on there?”

She faced him now with surprise, her hand stilling on the clothes, before she regained her composure and shook her head, letting it fall back down again as once more her task was of utmost importance. “My Lord I have been busy doing my work, as you can see.”

“But you were watching us.” Arthur stated, no question about it.

She lifted her head, giving a slight nod. “I saw some…yes.”

“And you don’t approve?”

She seemed to be quarreling with herself before she gave a frown. “I don’t like bullish behavior.”

“You’re calling me bullish then?”

She frowned, those eyebrows uncomfortably pitching. “I didn’t say that. I said that I don’t like it. When boys who are bigger than other boys act like bulls. Not that I’m calling you one. But when you see a bull…it can be nothing more than a…bull. Not that you’re one. My Lord.”

“But I’m bullish.”

He didn’t ask, didn’t need to. She raised her head again, giving another one of those disapproving frowns. And he knew she saw him that way for sure. It bothered him, for whatever reason then he wasn’t sure why. But another year passed and the girls started to be a big part of Camelot banquets. Girls of nobility, of perfect beauty and all that.

And yet still years later when Merlin was his servant finally and she was accused of sorcery, she called out his name. His first name without any protocol before it. She screamed to him, Arthur, and it started then, a wonder again to her unique natural beauty. To the girl who called herself Gwen and yet the fitting title for him was Guinevere.

His remembrance of the past is broken as Merlin comes in, of course forgetting the precious Gillyflowers. And of course beyond that his wife realizes that even if his intentions are good, it is Merlin who has done much of the work. She gives him that smiling and knowing look as Arthur tries his best to protest that at least it was his idea.

Then they enjoy the meal together. When it is done, Arthur snuggles up against her, kicking away the plates and tray. She giggles as they crash down to the floor before exuding her responsible tone.

“Arthur, that will need to be cleaned up. You shouldn’t make such a mess for the servants.”

He tickles at the edge of her ear with his finger. “Always so considerate Guinevere.”

She sighs some under his touch, reminding him, “I used to be one of those servants. Tending to messes that sometimes were the result of nothing more than indulgence.”

Okay. He likes how she phrases that last word. Adds a bit of naughtiness. “Well indulgence within private chambers isn’t always bad. See my Queen, we have a curtain around this bed and all for such private indulgences.”

She presses her lips desiringly against his. “We do indeed my King.” They kiss some more, but then he asks, fingers tendering at her curls of hair to bring some stray ones away from her face. “How did you sleep?”

She smiles at his concern that edges just slightly into his voice. He tries to be cavalier about it, but he worries regularly since the end of Morgana’s control. “I had no more dreams if that’s what you mean. Just that one when we first lay to sleep. They are rarer now, so that is good.”

“Yes, very good.” He sighs and taking her more strongly into his arms lies down with her upon the bed.

She frowns as his intention becomes clear. “Do you not have court business Arthur? Knighting matters to attend to? I must have some too, obligations of being Queen that is.”

She starts to lift from the bed, but he shakes his head, pulls her in closer. “No. To have such a strong Round Table Court and Council means that there are times I do not have to be there. If there are any emergencies they know to consult me. As for the knights, they too tend to their business quite well and should do fine without me for at least a day. And as for your obligations, you’ve been relieved of them this day. Everyone needs some time off. So hence, we get ours.”

She laughs softly, snuggling in against him. “Well I shall no longer argue against your will then…for this day that is. Whatever will we do with ourselves Arthur?”

He moves up to his knees and pulls the opening part of the curtain tightly closed, grinning back at her after he’s done. “Oh I have a few chivalrous and yet indulgent intentions in mind.”

“Chivalrous you say?” She asks with a wink to her eye as his hands grasp underneath her arms, pressing intimately into her back.

“Yes. What can be more chivalrous than a man attending to his wife?”

“Mmm…” She murmurs as his lips wetly find her neck. “Nothing I suppose.”

And within those concealed curtains they indulgently enjoy their day off.

***

The time of lightness is not meant to last however. Days later she finds him within their private chambers, a tight look upon his face.

“Arthur, what is it?”

He says nothing and so she closes the door and steps forward, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “Arthur?”

He holds at her hands, bringing one to his lips, his look still troubled, but her presence a pleasure to his heart. “Morgana has declared war on Camelot.”

She lets out a sigh, but it’s not one of surprise at all as she moves around him to stand in front. “And you are surprised? I can’t believe that you would be. She took me and tried to bend me to her will of ending your life.”

She whispers is with quiet passion against his face, a brush of her lips. “Thankfully she failed. But Morgana has proved it. She is determined to have her way. She wants Camelot’s fall.”

Arthur stares at Guinevere for a moment. There is cold truth in her words. It is what Morgana’s capture of her has done. Oh, by all understandings of heart, his wife is still the beautiful, peaceful, humble, yet strong woman he has always loved, but now too she is even firmer of purpose. Morgana, with her capture, with her setup to kill Elyan, has unwittingly made a stronger foe.

“She does.”

Gwen lifts her hands, touching her husband’s cold cheeks. He is tired and weary of the hatred, of the cold heartless pursuit. She has little doubt he will not sleep much tonight, mapping out courses of war into the latest hours. They will be ones that he will travel with his knights because Arthur rarely stands back from the strongest battles. He is always at the front, a warrior king.

Only in his white tunic, she frowns at the coldness she feels upon his face, and goes to their dressing wardrobe, bringing it out. She wraps it around his shoulders, bringing his hands and arms into the sleeves of his long warm coat for cold evenings. “Here…there is a chill tonight. I will go make up some cider too. Keep your heart warm.”

She goes to leave, but he catches at her hand, love in his eyes because even though he knows sometimes she does not like it, that he is this way, she understands him well. She knows the duty they both agreed to when he became king and she became queen respectfully. “Thank you. Guinevere, my Heart. You keep me warm.”

His lips press intimately to hers, his tongue rolling inside to connect indulgently with her. For just a moment. A bit of intimacy, before he lets go and she gives a slow smile.

Perhaps reluctance? Maybe a bit of want to fight? But he gets none. And beyond love and physical pleasure and desire it is why he is so entirely glad he married her years ago.

She is not so selfish to quarrel, to hold jealousies or ugly disagreement when he must think of the kingdom.

For she thinks of it too.

She leaves the room and Arthur presses his hand to his heart, where hers just touched for a second. Feeling that lingering warmth, helping him to move to the desk and begin it.

A plotting of war that he darkly wonders…

If Morgana has her way…

Could it be his last? 


	10. Scabbard

_ _

**Scabbard Note:** This was written for 5.11, scene extending, strong AU elements, all of that.

**Shared Chambers: _Scabbard_**

There is the tread of footsteps and then he’s there. She moves forward, seeing in his face the weight of rule. The unending heft of kingship.

“She didn’t take it.”

Gwen nods and looks to the window, seeing how the procedure is being put into its last bits, the plank laid down, the noose extended.

“She refuses to admit the truth. I have no choice. She will be hanged in a few hours. I will not blame you if you have no desire, but I will be standing on the balcony above. I will observe her execution as a king should.”

The words escape his lips in webbed tangles. He stutters and blurts, shakily. She vacates the window, grasps his cold hand, whispering, “And I will be standing by you. For you are my honorable king and my husband whom I love.”

She doesn’t wait for his falter, just lifts her hands and extends her arms, pulling him toward her. He grasps her upper arms, fingers tangling into the scarlet red material. His head falls upon her shoulder, his golden hairs brushing against, and his eyes wearily looking beyond. His sigh is heavy, dragged from his lips. And as she pulls backward she can see the increase of lines that each day crack more and more into his skin. It does not matter he is still a young soul. Kingship finds its way to abuse youth and vigor.

“I tried Guinevere. I swear I did.” He states plaintively, almost like he is seeking forgiveness.

Calmly she strokes his fingers, and pulls them and him against her heart. “I believe you. And the people have seen too.”

“She says I am just like my father. A brute. A merciless killer. When Mordred came to me, when he kneeled at my feet I saw the pain of loving someone swim into his eyes. I remembered loving you and begging my father to just let us go, let us be alone. As Mordred did the same with me.”

Gwen sighs, grasping her husband’s hands firmly in hers as she speaks with conviction. “But the difference is Arthur, I committed no crime. Kara has.”

She pulls him in closer, her hands still locked over his. In his face she can read his anguish, his revulsion at what is to happen. “You gave her a chance to repent and she did not take it. She has sworn up and down her hatred for you and her absence of care for the lives she ended, brutally, mercilessly. She accuses you my husband and yet she admits in a court of law with just a shrug of indifference that those men were nothing more than ‘casualties of war’. To spare her after that, after attempting to give her another chance, and still she says she has done no wrong, would put Camelot in the gravest danger. It would show you as weak and pliable.”

Arthur looks up into his wife’s eyes, reading her intelligence, so keen, her resilience so impenetrable and her heart so abounding. It is the most curious of physical characteristics combined. It is why she always amazes and enthralls him.

If there could be a scabbard to a husband, she is his. In nights of passion she contains him within her sun blessed glistening limbs. But in the hour of mundane day or that of the hour of potent duty, it is her peace and her order that is the scabbard then he so necessitates.

When Mordred kneeled at his feet and the young man began to cry, looking up into his eyes with misery, Arthur felt his agonies keenly, for it was the same for him when his Guinevere was nearly terminated of life.

However this is indeed different in that Guinevere was innocent, and Kara is not. Also Mordred deceived him, he who is holding in a cell now.

“I don’t want to hate Mordred.”

Gwen lets out a sigh at that. From the first when Arthur knighted Mordred she could see how much the young man meant to him, and Mordred has shown in-kind respect every day he has been in service. Until now. Until love and perhaps something else has interfered.

“Then do not.” She squeezes his hand, looking up into her husband’s wearied blue eyes. They have seen little sleep these past days. She has felt his shiftings upon the bed, been woken up in the middle of the night to spot him at his table, tiredly continuing the planning of war. “Hatred is an emotion that is only wasted. It serves no purpose. You need not hate someone just to be in disagreement with them. You are a man of compassion and if Mordred cannot see that then I am sorry for him.”

Arthur studies his wife quietly. “You see none then in Kara?”

Gwen ponders the question only for a quick moment. “Kara is young. You are right about that. Could she be influenced by another? Possibly. Morgana or such. But she stands upon a side that I cannot support and neither can you. To do so would place Camelot in grave peril, I remind Arthur.”

“Then you agree with my decision?”

His asking continues and so she lets go of his hands, tenders his cheeks with her palms. “Arthur you have done the only thing you could do. You gave her a chance, an out, and she did not take it. She is wrong about you. You are a loving passionate fighter of your people. You would never stoop to cause harm to Camelot or your men who serve you. I will not lie. A hanging is not something I want to see.

Camelot held in peace for so many years my husband. Your pledge to not disturb the Druid way of life, a pledge you have kept. It has been good, but there are those who do not agree with the peace that you and I seek. They want revenge, just a sad fact. So I will stand by your side, as your queen, and as your wife, and not let you face this alone.”

His lips come against hers. Press down and part her mouth to him. His drink is her essence to touch the desert of his tongue. Her lips around his are that scabbard again, containing him with care.

He whispers that he’ll be back in some moments.

It is sometime after he leaves that a party passes by their chambers. Hearing the clang of the guards’ armor, Gwen opens the door and makes a request.

“I will speak to her. You will give us a few moments.”

One of the guardsmen shakily answers, “My Lady, we’ve been told not to release her from her bonds. King’s orders.”

They seem hesitant as if the queen will object to that response. But Gwen shakes her head, putting her hand out in understanding. “I know. And that is fine. You may be privy to this conversation also. I know your discreetness fine guards of Camelot. My words will not take long. The shackles may remain.”

They seemed relieved by that as they take a few steps back, keeping Kara in their watchful eye all the meanwhile though.

Gwen steps forward, lifting her red scarlet dress some, and settling it around her waist to land regally at her feet again as she stops directly in front of the young Druid woman.

“My husband gave you a chance to be pardoned earlier today. You did not take it Kara. Why?”

Her voice is gentle, soft. Kara seems a little taken aback by it at first, before she lifts her chin. “Your husband required that I take it by admitting my crime. Well I have not committed one.”

Gwen smiles a bit with irony, before questioning. “You have not? And yet did you not admit to the killings of many men? _Casualties of war_ , that is what you called them, yes?”

Kara continues to display pride in her cause. “Yes. A war that your husband has perpetrated by being a cold cruel ruler who destroys lives without thinking.”

Gwen eyes her firmly now, not letting Kara look away from her as she says nothing for a long while, just keeps up the lock of gaze, before she speaks of the personal. “And you are no destroyer?”

“I have hurt no one.”

Gwen’s mouth flattens to a tight line, before she whispers ominously. “Then you are a liar. For you see those men who you consider nothing more than casualties of war had lives and loves to fulfill their hearts.”

Kara swallows, but acts as if she doesn’t care. So Gwen steps forward more, treading upon personal space. “One was set to be a father, two months from now, give or take a few with how nature is sometimes unpredictable. Now his wife grieves and must be given safe herbal tonics to sleep so she has no nightmares in the night. One had a son who is no more than thirteen. And now must be the man of his homestead while he is dazed by the horrific loss. One had a lady who he wished one day to marry, but now she is broken of heart. And it goes on Kara. There are more with lives that you tarnished and destroyed. And yet you call them nothing more than _casualties of war_. As if they are parchment to be carelessly torn after error.

Are they your error? Your mistake? The one you do not regret. They are nothing but that to you?”

“Camelot is a land of unjust people who hold no regard for those who have suffered so many years-

Gwen cuts through now sharply, her voice rising enough to show her disagreement. “Camelot is a land of people who work hard every day to keep this kingdom at peace! It is a land that I love and the king of this land is a man that I love, and yet you come here and you speak of this place and this man with such lack of respect, such lack of care, within our court of law! You insult my husband, King Arthur Pendragon, with false truths and unfair accusations!

So hold your tongue on your lies. I will not hear them anymore.

Do you know what a scabbard is Kara?”

The change of conversation’s direction offsets Kara. She nods with a touch of exasperation. “Of course I do. It holds a sword. What does this have to do with-

“Do you love Mordred?”

Kara’s chin flinches some; she says nothing.

Yet a woman who is loved and shows love gets her answer right away. “You do. And yet you don’t seem to understand. To be a man’s love of life you must be like his scabbard, holding him within your embrace of living. Sheathing him protectively when needed and honoring what he holds passion for. Mordred came here to Camelot because he wanted to serve Arthur. He respected him that much. Your disgust in Arthur’s ways quarrel with Mordred’s beliefs.”

“You don’t understand-

Gwen fixes her jaw. “No. I understand. You spoke of Arthur’s father with ill will and I must concede he was not a king of the most just decision. His father caused me pain, but I don’t want to extend that pain to my husband. For I love him. I am his scabbard. I contain him in every way I must. If you truly love Mordred you will try to see why he does what he does. You would hear his hurt when you killed those guards, those ‘casualties of war.’ You would not force him to choose.

Oh you see Kara I too had a time when I could have selfishly made Arthur choose. But I did not for I knew my husband needed to be king of this land. The just wonderful king he is now. The one you question so and yet you do not understand an inch of him. You do not see that the greatest weapon Camelot has is the people’s love for him.

But most sadly Kara you do not see that the man you confess to love is in agony at you forcing him to take a side. His destiny is now tarnished by you and your greed of purpose. There is no crime until one is committed, and you Kara, committed not only one, but many.

Perhaps you serve Morgana, and yet do you know truly the woman you serve? She imprisoned me for days. Enchanted me to kill my own husband. Morgana’s heart is cold, Kara. So very cold. However, it is my husband that you accuse of coldness.”

Kara says nothing, but her gaze is now more fixed upon Gwen, listening.

“Let me tell you about my husband, Kara. Let me educate you about King Arthur Pendragon. He married me when my position in life, before I became queen, was as nothing more than servant. You see Arthur did not let that stop him from being with the one he loved. He knighted my brother, who had no inch of royal blood. And he has knighted others, with likewise circumstance, even Mordred. He has aided people who cannot afford the tax of living, by alleviating them of its cost. He is the kindest man of heart I’ve ever known. Robust just heart.”

Kara quarrels back verbally. “He is like his father, treats the Druid people without mercy, barbaric in his ways.”

Gwen shakes her head strongly. “That is not true. For years now Arthur has not gone near the Druid people, made no disturbance upon their way of life. As he said to you in the throne room, your sentence has nothing to do with magic or sedition. It has to do with that you murdered, more than once, and have no repentance for it. I love my husband, but I would never blindly support a decision of law. I support him entirely in this decision though you see Kara because it is the fairest. Someone like you, who turns knights against their king without remorse, who murders good honorable men without understanding of the cost of life, and who claims to love without respecting that person’s honored loyalties, is no good for Camelot, no good for existence at all. Your heart is too cold. You are a threat. And therefore you must face your judgment.”

Gwen starts to signal to the guards to take her, but then Kara’s words stop her. “And what about yours and your husband’s heart? He has not made up for his father or his own cruelty because there continues to be a ban upon magic. He seeks no end to a merciless sickening law. And neither do you. I do not fear death so much. I do not regret it. But I do regret that I will not be here to see it. Camelot’s fall. Its decimation.”

The words spit out of her mouth as Gwen slowly turns back to her, disturbed by much of what she says, recalling something of foreshadow that crawls up her skin and pinches, like blood seeking leeches.

“And with it your husband’s death. His blood soaking into the land, creeping out of his body, until his limbs cease to move, until his heart finds no more beat, until his breath leaks out its last exhale. It is coming Queen Guinevere, the final battle. The one where Arthur Pendragon dies.”

Her heart starting to beat terribly fast, Gwen holds her outer composure, saying nothing to Kara, just signaling for the guards to take her. This conversation is done.

When they are gone, she closes the door to their chambers, stepping further inside, going to the position of her bed furniture. Within the stand is a box. She takes it out and the rolled up paper that is inside. Months ago, when Sefa was just escaped, when her father was dead, when Arthur was facing Morgana for the first time in years, and when Mordred was found again, this message came into her hands, speaking of Camelot’s fall, and Arthur’s end of life.

Then there was skepticism about Mordred’s loyalty. That ceased when he seemed to prove himself and showed no link to magic. Now Gwen has to wonder darkly. Was this all the prelude to the end?

She shakes herself out of her dark reverie, putting the Druid prayer back in its box, and turning to the bed, seeing rivers of it.

_Blood. Crimson blood. Floating among the pale sheets. Cursing its stain into the covers._

“Oh.” She gasps, holding her hand to her mouth, and extending the other one to the bed, shakingly touching it, and watching as the liquid drips down her skin, covers it with a body’s excrement of life.

“No.” She breathes. And hears the door. Looks back to see her husband, his face not directed her way. She painstakingly turns once more to the bed, to her fingers, which are now stainless.

_The bed unmarred._

A foreshadow?

A chimera of what is to come?

Gwen shakes it away, wiping at her uncovered hands, stealing herself to be calm in her husband’s presence, to not show him what just horrified her.

Arthur steps into the room, his heart beating heavily, his legs feeling cumbersome. “It’s time Guinevere.”

She looks back to him, letting out a sober, but calmer look.

“Like I said, you needn’t go with me. This will not be pleasant to see. I know. I’ve faced these before.” He has: burnings, hangings, decapitations. Since age deemed appropriate by his father, just past twelve, he has been an observer of violent deaths of those who practice magic.

After so many, bits of numbness protected him, the judgments feeling almost ordinary.

_Almost._

Never could he fully get rid of the grotesque feel.

His face is so haggard. His beautiful blue eyes so lifeless. Gwen moves away from the bed, reaching out for her husband’s hands, and tells him strongly, “I stand by your decision as it is the right one. So unfortunate she did not take your pardon. So wrong she would threaten your life and those of Camelot. We go together, Arthur.”

He nods his head, feeling his wife’s kiss upon his cheek, and leaning into it for a moment weakly, whispering with shaky breath, “Guine-vere.”

He doesn’t want this. She can feel it. His heart recoils, but there sadly is no other way, especially after the dark words Kara uttered to her. She has threatened Camelot and the love of her life. To leave Kara alive would be foolishly detrimental.

Arthur feels his wife’s hands at his back, rubbing and helping him to move, to stand straighter. She gives nod.

_Time._

They walk out of their chambers, a unified movement of royal purpose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When it is done, Mordred is gone, and sitting in their chambers, Arthur feels a fool. He has trusted again and been betrayed once more. Every person it seems that he has placed loyalty in, deceives him. It is exhausting. It yanks at his mind, making him feel such an idiot. Such a weak king.

How could he have been so stupid?

Now what? Would Mordred go to Morgana? Would they work together in alliance?

There is another tangle in his mind though, Mordred’s love, Kara. Her face as she died. Staring up at him. Challenging him. Telling him her only remorse was that she wouldn’t see his death.

Arthur doesn’t care about that, her foreshadow that is. Her bluster.

He just cares about Camelot, his wife, putting all he loves, all he is passionate about in the gravest danger. There will be no choice now, but to go to the gallows of war. To fight to hopefully one day, some time, some year, achieve peace.

But there is no time for this, these selfish indulgences in misery. He reminds himself silently and sparks to action again.

Arthur sends Merlin to get Leon. They lay out the map and work hard at finding the best routes to victory, although all seem far too shallow. For hours they labor. Every time Kara’s death creeps into his heart, he pushes it away. Has to get everything right. Has to be King.

It goes on past dinner. He ignores his wife’s calls for him to take a break. It continues to the hours of midnight and then finally he takes a breath, steps away from it all, and leans against the window. Silent. Finger nudging at his chin and lips.

Gwen touches Merlin’s shoulder, concerned for her husband. “He hasn’t eaten.”

Merlin nods, his own heart heavy. He could have kept Mordred away, never allowed this to happen, but he failed before. And now…

Now it is more dangerous than ever. For years Morgana has hungered to know the existence. So now…dejected…hurt…incensed…will Mordred tell her?

Will he reveal that he is Emrys?

It is a useless question for Merlin is almost certain he will. Kara is dead. Mordred is devastated, and hence a grave danger to Camelot and Arthur.

Seeing the heaviness in Gwen’s face, Merlin touches her hand. “Gwen, it will be alright.”

She says nothing, and Merlin can feel the deceptiveness of his words. He has this dark dread that maybe nothing truly will be alright again. But he just wants to reassure her.

Finally she nods her head, thanks him, and gives a quiet signal. Merlin understands and leaves them alone in their chambers.

Arthur moves to the bed, pushing his hands against his face, sitting there with his shoulders hunched, the effort of action seeping out from his body. It takes a few moments for Gwen to see that he is repeatedly shaking, and that odd queer disturbing sounds are escaping his mouth. She moves forward rapidly, lowering to her knees in front of him, catching more of the trembling, seeing the tears upon his cheeks.

“Arthur.” She whispers, extending her hands and arms, bringing him down against her, pressing him to her breast. “Oh Arthur.”

He knew the moment Merlin was gone and felt everything sag from there.

Always he tries to be strong, but when alone with just his Guinevere, he is never so naked that he can’t reveal his emotion. Its tangle with an ugly cacophony of moments. Mordred crying and kneeling in front of him. Kara hanging from the noose. Every betrayal that has ever caught him a fool. Each life horribly taken by the wars Camelot has had to fight.

The ones coming that fill him with ugly oils of dread. Two unfortunate possible outcomes, killing her, or being killed by her. He is not afraid to die, not so much anyways, just afraid to leave all he loves, to let down his kingdom and his wife. Oh his wondrous wife.

She is holding him tight, but Arthur pushes even further into her warm arms, feeling inches of freezing climbing up his flesh. He needs her every presence, needs to be enwrapped by the scabbard of her love, her devotion. To face this alone is too painful. So he sobs into her shoulder, cries into the scarlet material of her dress. His tears a river of regret, of shame, of fear.

It’s one of those curious moments, when that silly little farmer dream is not so far away from his mind. If only he could be anonymous and live with her happily somewhere. Just be not important. Just be-

“I’m here, Arthur.”

He shakes and sputters against her. Into her. He vibrates like a violent earthquake of emotions bursting out. A waiting explosion of agonies. His fingers clutch the soft red velvet of her dress, dig into the material. But she does not complain, just embraces him even tighter.

Her own tears fall forward. Let that prayer be a lie, a mistake. Let this war end with him not having to leave her.

She encloses her husband upon her sheath of love, within her scabbard of adoration. She holds him to her and wipes away his tears. Take away his rivers of pain.

His father would call him weak. Weak to grieve a woman of no worth being dead. A throwaway. But he is not his father. Always has had his mother’s heart. And it’s so heavy. Mordred’s face. The pain. Morgana turning away from him, using his wife. Sometimes it just hurts so much.

But what’s worst of all is fearing Camelot’s possible fall. Because of his fault in trusting, believing.

“I’m a fool.” He finally breathes out. “I’m such a stupid fool.”

Gwen shakes her head hard, not allowing him to believe such a terrible thing.

He is not done though, firm in his disapproving belief. “I am, Guinevere. I’ve trusted so many that I shouldn’t have. I’ve believed they would stand by me, that they wanted the same things, for Camelot to prosper, for a unification of kingdoms. I trusted Morgana, Agravaine, now even Mordred. And they’ve all deceived me. My father never trusted, or rarely. Maybe I should have just followed his way.”

She pushes back now, grasps his arm and shakes her head so solidly that he sees, that he hears. “No. You cannot believe that. You are _NOT_ your father. And I am so grateful for that. I will not deny that you have pieces of him, that you loved him, and that it pains you he is no longer alive. But you have never been him Arthur.”

She reaches forward, digs past the material and lays her hand upon his naked heart, whispering for that part of him to hear. “You have so much in here. So much that few rulers have. Few people in this world. You are such a _GOOD_ man. So strong. So vital and full of valor. Every time an ally needs assistance you are there. Every time the people in the kingdom need assistance, need a helping hand, you give it unselfishly. You treat your knights, men of noble birth and of much simpler upbringings like they are your brothers. You have never looked upon your servant and friend Merlin like he is expendable. You are passionate, and you are brave. You never sit back. You are always at the front of the battle. And your people will be there with you.”

She grasps his cheek with one hand. “But beyond that you are my husband. I have never loved any man more than you Arthur Pendragon. In our bed you are the fiercest lover. And the gentlest all the same. And out, you treat me like I have always been of nobility. You helped me those first days when I was still a little unsure, when rulers would come and not accept my new role so easily.

You kiss me, still my breath for seconds, and my body shivers with lightening thrills. You are the other part of me Arthur. I have given all my heart to you. I will always give that to you. Oh Arthur, you are no fool. You are a beautiful wonder my love.”

“But they betrayed me.” He whispers. Her words amazing and full, but even they can’t take it away, this ugly lonely knowledge. “They hate me.”

She caresses his cheek, looking solidly into his eyes. “They want what you have. They covet more. And people like Kara, they do not think how their own acts of vengeance will lead to just more pain. That their cause maybe is noble, but not their actions in it.

You could not spare her. As painful as that was. You had no choice. I stood with you on that decision and on every new one you will make. A fool would be alone, no one nearby. You are far from alone. You are no fool, my husband.”

He moves forward, pulling her up against him, needing and wanting her closer and so she yields easily. His lips press hard against hers. Their tongues swirl together. They taste and are tasted. They drink and fulfill. Every bit of her essence is everything to him, and that feeling is believed in return. It can be said he is truly the sword. The man of armor and vigor. And that she is the scabbard, holding him in, protecting.

But as they lay down upon the bed, and embrace each other, kiss each other, touch, feel, and delve within love, swim into the waters of passion, of adoration, of comfort, the position of the scabbard is not always so easy to find. He is her shield as much as she is his. He contains within her contains. At certain points they are like one unit, one piece of existence. So close. So pressed upon each other.

Love in cries of pleasured pain.

Love in needs of naked touch.

Love in shared chambers.

The scabbard is in each body, within both.

It protects. It shields. It covets. It holds.

For precious moments.

Because beyond the scabbard of their precious chambers, lingers the chimera of dread.

The coming final battle.

Camlann.


	11. Firestorm

_ _

**Firestorm Note:** This one was written after 5.12 with some cannon and some AU moments to fill in the missing pieces. Notice that the tent became shared chambers too because it was their chambers really, bed and all. :)

**Shared Chambers: _Firestorm_**

The footsteps pound through the hallways, messily and noisily, a cacophony of sounds: rousing voices and bits of staggering. Rolling her eyes at it all, Gwen calmly puts away her work, blows out the candle at her side of the bed, and lies down within the covers, closing her eyes.

It is just a few minutes later that he comes in, obviously _trying_ to be quiet.

She cringes some as his belt lands on the floor with a heavy clang, and has to contain her snicker as he gasps at its noise.

He checks her side of the bed, peering over cautiously. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

But then they open to interested slits as his white tunic sails to the floor and his pants join the shirt. His boots are already landed there too. Finally when he is done with his disrobing, he climbs atop the bed. The mattress shifts some and she feels a strong arm come over her shoulder.

“Guin…Guinevere are you awake?”

She makes no sound which releases his sigh. “Ah, as well.” He grumps. “Merlin, I swear it’s like he’s a cheat. Wins every time. Took half my silver tonight. Idiot.”

“I’d say he’s a pretty wise idiot for winning your money.”

“Yes, well I guess you could say that-

She stifles her giggles as her husband stops in midsentence. “Guinevere! You’re awake.”

Her lips form a smirk, eyes still closed. “No, just talking in my sleep as you like to talk when to yourself.”

“I was not talking to myself!” Arthur grouses indignantly. “I was talking to you.”

“Whilst I was sleeping?”

He peers over her shoulder, noticing how she still has yet to open her eyes. Stubborn woman. “But you were not sleeping, Guinevere. You do not talk in your sleep.”

“How do you know? You’re too busy snoring like a pig.”

Oh that does it. He grasps her waist and presses against her side, raising his fingers to invade the most vulnerable areas of her nightdress. Hearing her high giggles as he starts it he smiles in victory. But then she is lifting her pillow from underneath their tussling bodies and hitting him square on the head with it. “Ow.” He tickles her harder.

She wriggles in his arms which causes him to watch with more than just amusement. Woman has more flare in her than a flaming torch.

Ready to get her own leverage, she reaches down within his breeches and-

“Oh Guinevere…don’t you…”

“Mmmm…” She strokes with a saucy look, her fingers enticing his sensitive anatomy.

“Stop.”

“You stop.”

His fingers cease moving on her body. Her knowing womanly touch is kind of a bit like lightning. “Guinevere.”

“Mmm…” She grins and he sighs, letting her sides go as she lessens her hold on him. His head veers downward to kiss her mouth. Gwen tangles her fingers into his golden locks, bringing her husband more abundantly against her.

“Oh.” He whispers in between, getting a breath. He teases her mouth with his finger, circling her bottom and top lip languidly, and then delving within to tickle at the rim.

“What were you really doing before I came in here?”

She smiles up at him warmly. “Sleeping.”

“Fibber.”

“Hmph. I’m not the one who had to have a round with the boys, am I?”

“Do I detect a spark of jealousy?” He asks teasingly.

She grips his naked shoulder just a bit too tightly, getting him to hiss. “You should know me better Arthur.”

“Indeed I do.” He grins as her hold loosens and they come closer together to kiss, one after another.

In between their hands play with each other, a frolic here, a naughty little pinch there.

And thereafter they snuggle, pressing upon bits of clothing each wears and delving further too. All is matrimonial privilege and exquisite custom. His hand strays within her nightgown to which she hums with pleasure as she presses kisses upon his chest that let out his happy growl.

“So Merlin was the victor again tonight, huh?”

That lets out his grumble of complaint. She whispers with amusement, “Perhaps you should stop betting against him.”

“Hmph.”

Her lips descend to enjoy her husband’s spicy taste, mingled now with plenty of Ale.

A few more kisses, he asks plaintively, “Come on Guinevere, my beautiful wife, what were you really doing?”

She grins at his insistence and thrown-in-there compliment, but refuses to give in. “Already told you. Sleeping.”

“Ah. Why so secretive?”

“Why so curious?”

He grumbles some more before lifting it high above their heads. The material slowly lowers to cocoon them inside.

Gwen giggles at the cave of blankets they are now contained within.

Even though she is bright and experienced enough to know where he is going with this, she asks teasingly, “Arthur?”

He arches above her, his greater muscled body flanking her petite one with defect-less acquisition. “Fortress time.”

However, she is not willing to let go so easily. A queen now for years and quite accustomed to a woman’s efficacy in bed, she lifts her fingers to his chest with the intent to make it, and him, spark with feverish desire.

“Your favorite game… _again?_ ”

It’s been played many times within these private chambers, and not only upon the bed.

Her words rouse memories of the other times they’ve engaged in his esteemed pursuit, bringing on a glimmer of pleasure to his face.

“You should know by now my sensual gillyflower Guinevere, I never grow tired of it.”

Well truth be told, she is quite fond of it too. Oh, and him. Really, can a man be any handsomer?

She thinks not. Bared to the waist, even under the blanket’s cover, he is sinew and firmness. His mostly pale skin actually shines under the blanket with little golden effects. His eyes glow like a sea’s blue and his mouth pouts outward with charming effect. She loves him like this, nearly naked to her appreciating eyes, every bit of his look secretive and reserved just for her and their very private chambers.

Her tongue edges past her lips as she gives a passionate sigh.

He notices it and all of her with easily returned appreciation. The nightdress she wears he actually gifted her with shortly after they were married. It fits her perfectly well, with flowing sleeves, a dipping bodice, and delicate floral ornamentation. Her long curls braided for sleep just give more attention to her face, that natural sun blessed shimmer, those attentive dark eyes, and of course her luscious lips.

Stroking his chest languidly with her fingers, Gwen gives a look of innocent confusion. “You’ll have to remind me of my role as I have completely forgotten.”

His answering expression is skeptical as he doubts very much she forgot, but he lets it go with a shrug. If she wants to play, he’s very game. “I’m the knight.”

Gwen has fun twisting things, her finger toying around his slightly upraised nipple as she answers coyly. “I think it would be better if I was the knight.”

His eyebrows pitch with question. “Guinevere, you…the knight? My Love, you are quite keen of intelligence and have a strong backhand when it comes to raising random things to hit someone with. I know well. That time I came in here early from the hunt when you were not expecting me, and I grabbed you, I felt the fire poker’s wrath upon my head.”

“Humph.” She complains, still idly circling his nipple and pressing random kisses upon his chest. “Your fault. Be grateful I did not use the pointy end.”

“Yes…” Arthur sighs with a wry look. She has quite an adept hand when needed. “Grateful indeed. But back to the point Guinevere, that does not make you a knight. Being a knight requires years of training my love…” He lets the words stretch out, an expanse of breathy tones as he greedily takes her luscious damp limps with his.

“Physical…”

“Mmmm…” She hums with sensuous satisfaction.

“Arduous…”

Their mouths joust for sybaritic triumph.

“Training.”

Her fingers canter up his chest, grasping at his shoulder, and then slide redolently downward, a smooth flow of flesh to flesh. She watches his eyes react, the aroused glimmer of blue turning to flashes of passion. She’s not completely done though as she keeps up her teasing banter, frolicking in bed, among other key places, with her gorgeous husband, one of her greatest enjoyments of life now.

“A wise courageous knight must always get the advantage, you told me once, isn’t that right my husband?”

_Hmmm_ …she’s definitely thinking of taking this somewhere, but right now he’s a little preoccupied with her neck, lips mingling with soft skin to institute wetly burning kisses. “Yes…” She tastes divine. “Absolutely must.”

Gwen lets out a languid sigh, her head falling backward upon her pillow. His mouth…oh a sword of carnal passions. But time to make her point. One hand slides further down his chest, tickling at his stomach.

“Guin.” Arthur gives out a little weak giggle. However his wife has lustier intentions than just making her husband dissolve into a mess of titters.

Gwen presses her hand between his breeches and skin, sliding within the thin material that holds his length of manly hardness inside. She gives a taunting little stroke with her fingers, feeling him jump against her with reaction.

“Guinevere-

_“Sshhh…”_ Her other hand touches his lips, takes ownership of his mouth. “I’m getting the advantage. Being a proper knight.”

It’s an indulgent lull they are engaging in. Outside their chambers and past the castle’s exterior, beyond Camelot’s high climbing gates, war is looming. Morgana is set to fully begin it anytime. Some nights he sleeps little. Days are full of round table meetings of necessity and increased patrols. Some have already even been sent out to the surrounding kingdoms. Danger is all around. Beyond their bed sits a map of war-planning upon a table.

But now here…in shared chambers, in shared bed, in shared proximity, her fingers flush pleasure into his face as they enjoy their lull.

She continues her wifely threatening stroke. Feels him arch up against her, always susceptible to her touch as she is to his. Rest assured, she has little fear her attentions will not be returned. Arthur is a man of generously seductive chivalry after all.

Arthur clings to his wife, holding her body down against his to keep her hand in place. Moments there are the friction climbs so high he wants to push it away. Other moments he wants to seal it to him forever.

“Guinevere…oh for the love of Cam--Guin…”

His whispers turn almost breathless. His hardening is firm against her fingers. And the wet hot swell.

A man transfixed by his wife. She loves what she can bring him to. Loves…

“Oh…”

He’s done. The jousting play is all over. He’s pulsing hard against her and struggling some for regular breaths. Her strokes that started out slow have grown fast and intense. It is time to give her some of the same.

The blankets are half on them now, half off. He’s widening her thighs and she’s tangling her fingers into his hair, twisting and pulling as his hand slides deep between her legs. Kisses rain from their mouths. Sloppy messy misplaced ones. Their limbs are tangles of desire and erotic need. He pleasures her again and again with his fingers and then that’s not enough.

Something else.

“Love…” He whispers in her ear. “Guinevere…my beautiful love…fie…you…always…drive me…mad…”

She rocks against his lascivious dance, hips ascending, descending. Slow. Sweet pain and pleasure.

He watches her eyes close and open. Long gazes, they glimmer with sexual joy. His rapacious hands keep forward the momentum, _up, down_. He urges within her insatiable wet heat.

And she loves it, his relentless endeavor to be deeper inside. She wants him there where satisfaction is a long sigh of pleasure. It’s coming, inches away, she can feel it. Her restless hands press into his chest, lightly scrape his nipples, eliciting his throaty groan. It is like a warm watered ocean, love with Arthur. It is like nothing she can fully describe really. Her toes tingle, her fingertips radiating like lightning.

The hard unyielding thrust. “Oh…” She lets out a soft cry. So close.

So near he can feel it too. Arthur whispers into his wife’s ear, commencing to bring her over the edge.

“Come my beautiful Gillyflower…let go and come…”

And as he pierces her one more time, as he slides so deep within that she forgets what part of her is herself and what part is him, she gasps out pleasure to his waiting kiss. Feels him swallow it all with his mouth and she just gives it back, her body a tangle of sensations. Wet. Hot. Carnal feels…

He too lets go of his hardest pain and pleasure. They release everything together.

It is a most beautiful ascension.

…

Many moments later he holds her securely in his arms, letting out a slight growl of defeat. “You win.”

She smiles the bit she can, feeling his fingers intertwined with hers over her breast, and whispers, “We both do.”

“I love you.” He murmurs into her neck, keeping her ever so close.

“I love you the same my husband.”

…

Moments pass. They hear the crackle of the still slightly burning fire in the hearth. Then they hear each other’s breaths slow down from all their pleasurable exertions as sleep finds them both.

…

She dreams.

Gold is within her fingers. Upon the crest is the symbol of a winged dragon. There is nothing else. Just her fingers holding it and the image is gone, but it remains in her mind as she wakes, strokes her heart for a moment, getting it to beat a little faster.

“Ah…”

Gwen opens her eyes, hearing a sleepy grunt from her husband. She brings her hands over his arms that clasp her securely to him, rubs with her fingers, and keeps him from waking as he slumbers contentedly again, that slight familiar snore blowing out from his mouth. She smiles at it and after carefully slipping out from his grasp, putting her pillow nearby so he doesn’t notice right away her absence, stretches across the bed to his side.

Arching above his sleeping face, she finds it, a large metal ring of multitudes of keys. They go to the dungeons, the various throne rooms, their chambers, and other places. One in particular goes to a box. She learnt all this their first night of marriage.

He does not regularly wear it, but the day of her coronation, after their ceremony of marriage, he did wear it and when they came to their chambers for the first time as man and wife, he educated her about it after their first makings of love.

It was a night of passionate exploration if anything. The talked first and then they kissed and acted upon all the physical desires they had suppressed for so long. She enthralled in his naked physical beauty, even that endearing little paunch of stomach, and hissed inward at the first time his thick, yet long fingers reached out and stroked her breasts, and then later further intimate places of her body. It was a tangled excursion of pants and whispers to culmination. Pain and pleasure combined in which he spent a few moments making sure that she was okay. To which she stroked and kissed away his worries. Zenith reached. A plummet of emotions and feral showering of release and meridian met together, with uninhibited cries.

That first time, they just did it once, as it was exciting but still novel. Later days they’d engage in more extended marital bliss.

_They were just starting to slumber, still disrobed and with drops of exertions’ glow upon their warm bodies. After his checks to make sure all was right with her, and her whispers of gratitude for his concern, she was laying quietly in his arms. Their bodies turned in to each others’ she could feel it upon his finger that intertwined with hers. “The Royal seal.” There was no question in her voice. She had seen it before._

_Kissing the top of her hair, Arthur murmured against her brow. “Yes. With it I am King.”_

_She stroked the gold and his finger together, pressing a kiss against both. “You wore it today.”_

_He smiled with a touch of tiredness. “Yes…I honestly don’t often, but for occasions like this one.”_

_“So where does it go regularly Arthur?”_

_“Here…”_

_And that was when he showed her. There were two boxes you see._

Gwen finds the insignificant looking key on the ring now and opens the first box. It holds a key of its own. She reaches into a secretly inserted drawer that one must have prior knowledge about to understand how to pull out, and finds a second box. She uses the little key to get it open. Within, surrounded by crushes of velvet is the precious Royal Seal of Camelot. The Pendragon Seal of a winged dragon. She separates it from the velvet, lifting it within her fingers, wondering. Why a dream about it?

“Mmmm…”

He stirs again and she grasps the ring tightly, putting it back within its box, locking it inside, and putting the box back in the concealed drawer. Then she puts the key back in its box and locks it tight with its key from the ring. When she is done with all she slowly, quietly stretches back to her side of the bed and carefully slides the pillows past his arms to be back within them.

Another murmur comes after a few moments, and then perhaps not so sleepily, he asks,

“What were you doing?”

Guinevere smiles at her husband’s alertness, not terribly surprised as he is a man who regularly goes into battle. She smiles even more though at how during her separation from him the covers climbed higher upon his body. Arthur is the first to feel a draft of cold always in bed, growing up a bit more spoilt than her. What with glowing hearths and all.

“Nothing much.”

He lets out a small sigh, his warm breath blowing across her cheek. “You don’t want to tell me?”

Gwen shakes her head, her braid brushing across his chin and mouth. “Not that. I’ll tell you if you want.” And she means it.

But he shrugs unimportantly. “No. It’s fine. If you think it’s no matter then that’s enough for me.” He suggestively brings his fingers over her naked breasts and reminds. “We probably should put some bedclothes on, considering Merlin still sometimes wakes us up with little warning.”

She giggles at that, keeping his hands warmly around her. Merlin indeed does come bristling into their rooms some mornings with a cheery whistle, but since their marriage and the placement of the curtains around their bed, he has never opened them without invitation.

Still…the mornings are regular to carry a shrill draft and the last thing he or she needs is to catch a cold. “You are right.” She relents with a smile.

She reaches for his clothing and he for hers. They fondly help each other get dressed and then snuggle back within the bedcovers again.

“Good night Guinevere, my Love.”

She presses a kiss to his hand and holds at the white material of his tunic. “Goodnight my dear Arthur.”

As they begin to find sweet repose together, the silence surrounds them, but for the last dying crackle of the fireplace.

It is perhaps the last evening they will ever spend together in their shared chambers within Camelot.

That is because it is only hours away, the beginning.

The end.

Brother against Sister.

Blood upon Blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What happened? Where is Merlin going?” Gwen asks her husband, entering their chambers as Merlin passes by, rushing out before she can ask him what the matter is.

Arthur shakes his head from where he stands on the other side, his look unhappy. “He says he has an errand for Gaius that he has to do. Now. So I told him not to even bother with the armor. I’ll get it on myself.”

Gwen watches for a moment as her husband struggles with the chainmail, the little links of metal catching onto his hair and pulling, causing him to let out a hiss of pain. Giving a sigh she steps forward and extricates it from his fingers. “Let me.”

Grimacing, Arthur relents.

The news came just hours ago, receding Gwaine and Leon’s return. Morgana’s invasion of a nearby kingdom has resulted in so many killings of people and torching of the land. Next for certain will be Camelot. Thus, there is no other choice.

It is never a light decision to put his men into grave danger, but the alternative is unacceptable. Already Morgana has taken Camelot twice. It cannot be allowed again. It goes against everything the kingdom has always been for. Desecration of its people and its lands would ruin Camelot forever and lead to so much needless bloodshed of innocents.

He will not acquiesce to that kind of ruined world. This is what the Knights of Camelot have been trained for and always stood for. If going to Camlann means their deaths then that is a price they will take within their hearts, knowing at least they did not die as shameful cowards, they did not die with their kingdom up in flames. If it is their last heartbeat, it will cease with honor.

And that is why too Arthur cannot sit upon his throne and let those men go alone. He will be right alongside them, fighting for the love and continuance of his precious Camelot.

He is of mind to that, with little question. What he questions is why his servant now does not want to come along.

Merlin, always so brave.

Oh yes he has not told him so in the past, but it is something that Arthur actually has felt for years now. Merlin is truly one of the bravest men he has ever known. For Merlin, unlike other servants, has never left his side. He has always been there in the fight, without armor. Even when struck a few times, nearly lost his life once, Merlin has been there.

So why not now?

Why?

The tension in his body is palpable. Gwen tries to relieve some of the knots as she helps him get into the chainmail and then starts tightly binding his armor on.

“Ah.” He complains some and she can see in his face as she moves in front how he still is unhappy about his friend. “Arthur…Merlin must do what is right for him. And you must do what is right for you.” She fingers his face gently, but all the firmness is in her voice. “And for Camelot. You cannot leave here so troubled. You must focus on the task at hand.”

He sighs, letting out a full knot of tension, and moves forward to kiss her lips, tapping at her chin afterward. “How is it that you get me so well?”

She shows it to him, her ring. “Years of marriage and woman’s intuition. It’s quite a strong armament.”

He agrees with a smile and pulls her in closer, locking his hands around her waist. “You agree with what I’m doing? Going to Camlann. Fighting this way.”

She nods her head as she takes a moment of enjoying his closeness, but then moves past his hold to help him get the wrist cuffs on too. “I think you are right about the dangers of fighting here. Too many would be hurt. Morgana has already entered the kingdom by force before. She could do so again. And then, what? This is better.”

He quietly agrees and sees soon she is done with all his armor. Arthur moves away, looking for his cloak upon the table, and wraps it around his shoulders. As he goes to fit the buckle she walks towards him, holding it herself.

“Arthur…”

He shakes his head and she says nothing, clasping the buckle into place. But then he remembers something.

Gwen watches curiously as Arthur goes to his side of their bed, opens each box with each pair of keys and brings it out.

“The Royal Seal?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Gwen frowns as he places it in her hands. “You are in charge as always while I’m gone my Queen. Camelot is under your command.”

She nods quietly, her head down, eyes studying the dragon pattern.

“Guinevere?”

She lifts her head and clasps his shoulders fervently. She presses her breast against his plates of armor and chainmail so closely that she can feel the roughness. Her kiss drains from her lips upon his cheek, before it finds his mouth. His joins eagerly. A bit desperately.

They delve into each other, a mess of hands pressing and pulling. Tongues tangling. Breaths gasping at intervals.

“Be careful Arthur…” She whispers, heart beating fast and deep. “Do only what you need to and then come back to me…please…”

She presses her hand to his chest. Her eyes are full of anguish and hope at the same time.

He smiles bravely, touching that hand at his heart and holding it there, but then he frowns slightly. She is a wise woman, always has been. He knows she understands. This desperate choice, to go into battle this way, will mean rivers of bloodshed. There are many men who will probably not return. There is the strongest possibility, that he, the king, will fight his last fight there.

“Guinevere…”

“No.” Tears form in her eyes that she fights away with her persistent mind. _Not now._ She will not shed them. They are too indulgent, too greedy. He must be focused.

“No.” She says more strongly, pressing against his heart more staunchly, holding her hand solidly there. “I am so proud of you. And I love you so much. May you be strong, may you be safe…may your heart vibrantly beat, and may you by Heaven's grace, come home.”

There has never been any other woman for him. _Never._ Oh there were little flings and little bits of boy’s puppy love. Enchantments and such. Infatuations. Little bits of lust even. But not until her, has he felt his heart so full and in place. “I love you. Always. You’ll never be apart from me.”

She closes her eyes, letting her head fall upon his chest for a precious moment, but then she stands back up straight swiftly, nodding. She knows. There is that dreaded ugly chance. “My heart will always be with you.”

They clasp to each other one more time. Her hand has to be dragged from his heart before she finally lets go, and he fully leaves. She stands there holding the Royal seal in her shaking fingers.

And decides with lighting choice.

This may be the last time.

And if it is…

She will not let him go alone.

She will be right alongside, assisting with the wounded, and giving her husband all the support he may need.

She has never been an idle queen.

This is a very sorry time to start.

Gwen goes to their dressing furniture and removes all her riding clothes.

She’s going with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The choice for her to come is one both of them are grateful for. Arthur’s tent, since becoming king, is a vast one, and sometimes feels lonely. With her there, warmth is always surrounding him. She is glad too. He eats so little when alone at battle that at least her presence gets him to dine with her. Afterward, he spends so much time perusing their map of action.

Keeping her emotions in check, for she knows he does not need any type of weakness at this time, and she doesn’t need to divulge herself in it, she asks, at his heavy look of doubt, what is wrong. Then after his admission she gives him her truth.

Although his plan is ever so bold, it is right and wise, a king’s decision. To fight the war here at Camlann is frightful, yes, but it is the one way finally to put Morgana’s tyranny to an end.

Gwen is quite proud of her husband for making such an astute determination, with the keen knowledge that not all women would feel so. There would be those begging their husband to not join in on the fight, stay at home instead, seated upon the throne as death falls to the soldiers.

They might as well be dead to allow such atrocities.

And there is one more thing.

Since a young one, Gwen has thrilled at Arthur’s prowess in matches and upon the battlefield. Oh sometimes in the distant past his boastfulness would annoy her silly, but he’s matured now into a man she loves fervently. His valor is so commendable, as is his respect for what is good. His courage and fight comes not only from his muscle, but his brain and heart.

Years ago, when the Questing Beast bit him and she tended to his high fever, she could see it already. The supreme king Arthur was meant to be, better than his father. The kingdom itself had so much love for him, and secretly it was beating in her individual heart. She dare not tell him then for fear he might not feel the same. So she kept it inside, even though after he awakened he seemed to remember some, teased her for it.

Then later he came to stay with her when he was testing his true ability to joust by concealing his princely identity. After she shyly handed him a token to wear for luck, he smiled, and then suddenly kissed her. The slow break away, his gaze was one of wonder, matching her vibrant heart pang. His kiss made her feel so alive, a promise perhaps of what was to come.

However, loving Arthur Pendragon was never meant to be easy, one hardship after another. There was the temptation of Lancelot and Arthur’s father trying to marry him off. It took so long for them to finally come together but now here they are.

After his gratefulness for her wise council they hug. Then he lifts her into his arms, bringing out her sweet laughter.

It is a sound that Arthur dearly loves, and wants to always hear. It’s his wife’s sound. It and she is everything that most matters to him in life.

He seats her upon the bed and sits just a few inches across, touching her cheek and whispering meaningfully, “You’re right. Rest is needed.”

She smiles.

His lips find a spot right underneath her chin as he tells her quietly. “But not yet.”

The sensual answer delights and excites her.

On his knees, his hands, he crawls forward. She scoots backward, meeting the headboard. He surrounds her, legs, fingers. “I love you…” He whispers, his mouth parting, kissing the way up her face, to her closed eyes, her forehead, weaving around her nose, her chin…

“I love you too.” She whispers back, his lips consummately one with hers now. They pulse against her mouth. Wet flames. Torches of showering desire. Let everything be inside this tent. Contained.

Their chambers. Aflame with the beauty of love.

Under grasping, pulling hands, under mouths of adoration, clothing slips away. Bareness takes its place. Blankets shield and cause delicious friction. And eyes endeavor.

Each watches the other, pushing back at shoulders and whispering silently, wait. Make it last.

It could be argued that their true chambers are back in Camelot, but that is fallacy. Their chambers are the veracity of wherever they are contained together, just the two of them. That makes this tent them now. It is only within these shared chambers they are witness to it. The beauty of each other’s unclothed constitutions.

Her voluptuous curves. His male hardness. Little marks of birth. Memories of scars. Hidden imperfection. Tunnels of oasis. Uniquely adorned hues of skin.

His hands find her breasts. His fingers move over the curve. They cup the roundness. They frolic with the nipple. And she just holds him there. Shuddering a few times. Letting out little moans and gasps.

Her fingers find his stomach. She presses her hand into the much slighter paunch, for Arthur’s body is now so full of muscle there is little bounce in it. She goes further between his thighs. Strokes. Touches. Fondles.

A sword of passionate furies, his manhood vibrates in her hand as she gazes upon his gorgeous naked form. He lies without protest underneath her adorations. Just gives his own moans. Shudders his own bits.

Their passions are a storm of love, filled with erotic lightning sparks.

She pulses to his mouth, his hands, and he to hers. Their bodies move against the sheets in a fervor of joy and frenzy. Love. Seduction on their lips. In their fingertips. Skin presses and wetly thrusts. Flesh wet and wanting. A carnal menagerie.

Every impulse, every wish of no regret is here now upon their bed, within shared chambers. If this is the last time, if this cannot hold, if this shower of love is not meant to be once more, then they will not pull back. They will not forego the manumission of their emotions. Of their trembling constitutions.

Their tempest of feeling rises and lowers like their heaving forms. A squeeze here. A hiss of intention there.

Naked. Legs splayed. Hips thrusting. The foreplay of their earliest days is a shadowy memory. Even the fun with the gillyflowers is over. This is want and need. This is a firestorm of ache.

Arthur’s hands reach out for his wife’s bared legs. He widens them to lock around his waist.

Gwen lies back upon the pillows, her eyes looking up into her husband’s feverishly. “Arthur…” She murmurs.

And he is in.

“Oh.” Her arms extend to the headboard, hold it wretchedly. Feeling all his length deep _deep_ inside.

_Out._

_In._

Her muscles below quake and quiver. Bring him within…again…again…

He grasps her hips. Squeezes and lessens the hold, squeezes and begins the pattern again. He watches their private dance, catches the passionate undulations of her venereal body. She takes him so deep inside, within her wet heat. It leaves him almost mindless, his head rolling back with a hoarse sigh of increasing satisfaction.

Low continuing moans escape her lips. She doesn’t want this to end, but the climax is at the peak, something for once she does not covet. For she fears when it is reached, when he is no longer so full and hard inside her, when sleep knocks stubbornly at them, that hour of dread will be closer.

That minute.

That second.

He’ll leave this tent and-

“Guinevere…”

His eyes, so blue, so struck of sky and ocean’s wonder, force her to concentrate. Bring her to focus. “I’m never happier than like this.”

She nods her head, feeling his hard thrust and hearing his groans.

His whispering confession is filled of urgency within all their physical exertions. He needs to say it.

“Here…now…it’s like we’re one.”

“Oh.” Her body is pulsing so fast. Vibrating and sliding on the bed until his hands hold her firm to placement. Until he doesn’t let her move so far. And she thanks him for it, because it beautifully gets him deeper inside. So far that her sheath of love, her scabbard of passion embosoms him, enthralls him. If only there could really be a scabbard that never let him be vulnerable. If only it could go beyond these chambers and shield him forever.

If only…

_Oh_ …so much it hurts. So much it sends tiny lightning bolts of rapture through her, a precursor to the ultimate moment.

“Arthur…my love…” Tears form at the corners of her eyelids.

And at his. “My Love.” He says back. And moves faster.

So fast that she holds tight to keep up with the firestorm of their passions. To match and to keep it all within. To have him as much as he has her. To fully…

“Always remember this…always…you…me…together…love…”

He whispers against her wet cheek and she echoes it. “Always my husband…always…”

It’s enough.

_“Oh…”_

They cry out together. One piece. One climacteric of feeling. They shake so violently that for a moment it rocks the bed. Tears falling down their cheeks, they cling tight to each other, pressing and pulling into skin like it’s the only saving of life.

Like their lives are forever a connection of vital links.

When they finally descend it’s to a mess of blankets, it’s to glisten of sweats holding their bodies, it’s to the shared armor forever of each other.

When they come down it’s to the raging hope that love like this, within the arms of each…

Will be again…

and again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He strokes her back, fingers descending all the way to her firm cupped ass, and fondles there, giving a little pat. She’s holding onto his hip and between his thighs as she feels it. “Husband?”

He smiles sleepily. It is long moments since their storm of passions. And as much as it is tempting to just lie all bared like this together forever, he knows that is not possible. “Yes… _Wife_ …”

A teasing reply to hers before he gets serious.

“Guinevere…I think we should dress into our bedclothes. Don’t you?”

“Mmmm…” She murmurs protest, but then looking up into his eyes, nods. “Yes.” She lifts her hand away from its more evocative position and tenders it at his cheek. “Yes…you need sleep.”

She really doesn’t want to think about it, but hours away is a battle he is set to fight. He must rest.

He lets out a dry laugh. “After what we were just up to, I think we both do. Ah…I’m sore in the oddest places.”

She smiles at his bit of a joke and consents. “Me too. You were quite lusty tonight my husband.”

He fingers at her nose. “And you were plain wicked at moments.”

They giggle together, in private chambers. And consent to find out where their bedclothes reside.

…

Once in all the proper wear, they lay back down upon the bed, holding each other close. It doesn’t take long for her to see that his eyes are looking away, beyond her face to the walls of the tent.

“Arthur…what is it?” She asks, pressing her hand down upon his chest. He doesn’t say anything right away and so she rests her cheek upon his chest, looking up to his face, but waiting.

Finally, “I still don’t get it. Why he didn’t want to come.”

“Merlin.” There is no surprise in her voice, only quiet acceptance.

“Yes.”

She rubs his shoulder silently. There are women who would be jealous or maybe even insulted that during private time their husband thinks about his servant. But there are many faults with that kind of thinking that Gwen finds.

Merlin is not just a servant. He is a friend, precious and loved by all in Camelot. To her husband though he is almost like a brother. Oh now Arthur would hardly ever admit, but they are like siblings at times, bantering and ranting up a storm. Acting silly. And yet always protective. Merlin has always been there, going with Arthur on whatever jaunt it is. Hunting trips. Seeking out a dangerous beast. Encounters with bandits.

Battles.

“You miss him.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Arthur.” She states gently, but firmly.

So that he concedes. “Alright. I make light of it, but I do believe Merlin is brave. One of the bravest men I’ve ever known. I just don’t understand why this time he didn’t come.”

She reaches up, brushes back some hairs from her husband’s forehead, gently kissing his brow, and then lies back down upon his chest, with calm response. “Like you, maybe he has his own duty to follow.”

“So you believe that story that he had to get vital supplies for Gaius?” Arthur asks with skepticism. “Well I don’t.”

Neither does she, especially after her talk with Gaius. But now is not the time to go into it. Not fully anyway. “I believe that Merlin has a purpose that should be respected and that as his friends we should not quarrel with. Alright Arthur?”

His hands rub at her back. Her wisdom as usual is precise, direct on the target. He doesn’t fully like it, but to keep musing on it is not going to solve anything. He supposes he’ll find out soon enough what Merlin’s _purpose_ is.

“Yes…you’re right.” He quietly concedes.

She smiles gently, pressing in closer to him. There is still that part of her that does not want to slumber, for the morning will hold departure, but for now she wants her husband to feel at peace. That is all.

She arches upward, kissing his lips, and then lays back down, grasping the material of his tunic, her fingers tendering over it and him. “Sleep…Arthur.”

“Yes…” He sighs, kissing the top of her head. “Sleep…” His eyes are now so drowsy, his body languid. “Sleep…together.”

And so they do even with the sounds of swords being prepared for fight outside. Even with so many watchful and wary.

They hold each other and find gentle repose.

…

Just maybe a few precious hours later that repose is cut short far too early.

He feels it. Sees it. So strong it is that it jolts him awake. _Merlin._

Merlin?

Talk of Morgana. A path and…

His alertness wakes up his wife. Gwen rubs at Arthur’s shoulder to get him to rest again, telling him it was only a dream.

But none of this feels that way. Instead like something else. Something more powerful. More threatening. Something…something to listen to.

A path. Morgana. Find…

_Find…_

_The…_

_Path._

It comes to him so suddenly that Arthur jumps from the bed, hearing his wife’s cries, but he ignores them, rushing to get his coat on and then hurrying outside the tent.

Gwen clutches the bed covers, thinking how just moments ago they were together, his precious arm wrapped around her, his hand touching her hand.

And now…

She presses her hand to her heart, hearing the horrible action outside. It can’t mean…it will soon begin.

“Oh so foolish.” She laments.

It’s been a beautiful little hope. That she could contain him always. Keep him safe. Keep him asleep. One her silly little heart held.

But her sharp mind always knew. There was no way. This _is_ to happen. He will fight. She cannot stop him.

Deep in her soul she does not want to, for why would you want to break the man you love? Why would you rip him from his purpose? Why would you hide away in a bed while he prepares for war?

“No.” She states firmly, pushing away the bed covers and standing. He still has to dress. She can get it all ready for him, assist him in putting it on since Merlin is not here.

Merlin? He was so certain that it was not a dream, that it was something about Merlin, but no kind of chimera. So what was it then? This must have something to do with what Gaius told her. It must.

_Oh, be calm. Let that go for now._

She will find out soon enough. She needs get all his things in place so that he’ll be ready.

She picks up all the heavy pieces in a rush, laying them upon the table where he has the map.

As she finishes getting it set up, he enters the tent again, pulling his coat away from his shoulders. He goes to get his armor, but then stops as he sees her standing there.

“Guinevere?”

Moving to her husband, Gwen helps him shrug his coat off. “You have to go now, don’t you?”

He nods his head slowly. “It was a warning message. From Merlin.”

She stares at him with question. “What? How do you know that Arthur?”

He shakes his head, answer uncertain. “I don’t really know. I just…I can feel it, alright?” He holds her hand. “I can feel that somehow Merlin was warning me. There’s another path Guinevere.”

She’s helping him get his white tunic off and reaching for his red one as he talks.

“There’s a hidden one where Morgana intends to outflank us. I sent Percival and Gwaine to find it. There’s no time. She will attack tonight.”

Gwen gasps a little, but not so much in surprise. The dream was enough. It’s just still such a heavy weight upon her heart that her husband will be out of this tent and fighting a war as soon as she has him ready of wear.

It’s too soon. _It’s too…_

“Guinevere.”

Gwen ends her reverie, reaching for it, two things actually. She brings one out. “The Seal.”

He nods his head. It is on a cord that he attached it to hours ago. In battle when his wife is with him, he wears it. She lifts the cord over his head and shoulders and fixes it into place. The rope is frayed, light, not so easily detectable and fully hidden by his armor.

Then she takes out the other piece, extending it almost as shyly as she had years ago. “I thought you might we-

Almost because this time her voice breaks on the word ‘wear.’

He gazes at the embroidered piece and grasps her tightly into his arms.

“Oh Arthur…” She cries against his shoulder, not able to contain it anymore, her heart pounding with anxiety.

“Ssshhh…” He holds her strongly in his embrace, comforting the woman who never is rash in emotion. His always at peace Guinevere, now needing his reassurance and so he gives it, with whole utterance.

“Ssshhh…Guinevere…ah my love…Ssshhh…don’t cry. Guinevere don’t cry.

Please.” But it doesn’t hold, his firmness. Her tears are his shattering. He can’t take it honestly.

It’s his voice falling apart too that makes her give a shaky, but determined sigh. A breath of resolution. She must be his shield. His armor.

She pulls away, trembling fingers reaching out for his cheeks, wiping at his tears before he can alleviate her of hers. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” He smiles with love in his eyes, shining within all the tears. “No. Never be sorry. For loving me. For giving me all you give me. This…”

He gently extricates the embroidered piece from her hold. “This token and so much more. For opening your heart to me Guinevere. There is no one I love in this world more than you.”

His hands firmly grasp her arms. “NO…one.”

She clutches her mouth. The truth seeps from her veins. Her breaths. Her soul. “No one for me either Arthur. You are my only family left.”

She reaches out to his heart and he does the same to hers. “And you are all I have left of mine.”

It is there now. So thickly there. The possibility. The awful chances of fate that may brew this night.

But neither can languish in that. He is set to fight this war. She is set to support him in it.

Gwen lets out another pained breath and reaches for his cheek, caressing it as she asks, “May I put it on you my husband?”

He smiles. A slow one that fills his face. “Yes. Please do.”

It is embroidered upon the scarlet fabric, the beautiful golden symbol of Pendragon. It is all made by her, once a seamstress, now a Queen.

Gently, she ties it around his naked arm, where he wants it. So no matter what happens, he will always feel it, her handcrafted work of love.

When she is done, his kiss is to follow. It pours from his lips like a shower to rain upon hers. He holds her close, hands pressing into her backside, grasping at the material of her nightdress, clutching her body against his. Let this be their forever tenure.

Never apart. Always together.

Let this taste of each other never be lost. Let love always flourish. Passions always climax. Let the furniture, the floor, the bed of their precious chambers back in Camelot once again feel their heated nakedness. Their lovemakings. Let conversation never drift away from their mouth. Let hands touch again, clasp and gather. Let words of ardor come once more.

All this is in mouths that swell with the waters of fervor and sentiment.

_All this._

Like the first kiss. Mouths exploring. Like her first one pressed upon his lips, a dip of her body. Like the one when his father wanted to separate them, angst of hands needing to hold and keep. Like the first battle for Camelot, a beautiful whisper of emotion.

Like all they have felt in each other, it is the joy and pain of life.

It is them.

And when he parts from her, his look is that one of wonder from that first time. Her descent is with half lidded eyes, parted lips. Wanting more. Yearning for so much more.

But he nods. And so does she.

His clothing to fit him with is in her hands and she is securing it all over his body. As he holds still, watching her all the while.

She is a wonder of beauty, his Guinevere. A wonder of love and peace. If he can feel just a little of that on the battlefield, he will be alright, no matter what happens.

She finishes with the last of the armor, getting it on him and then stands back. He looks to the table and takes something out from wrappings of paper.

She smiles as he extends them to her, fighting to not cry again. “Gillyflowers.”

He nods with his own smile, pushing them gently into her hands. “Gillyflowers for my beautiful Gillyflower Guinevere.”

She holds them to her heart, struggling to not shake, to not convulse. “Thank you.”

He hears the tremble in her voice, touches at a fallen curl of hair. “I have to go.”

She nods, biting upon her lip so hard it almost begins to bleed. “I know.”

“No more time.”

Her face falls, her tears hard to stop. “I know.”

But hearing his voice weakly say her name she forces them back. Doesn’t allow them extrication. She reaches out instead, brings both her hands to his heart, and whispers, “With all my heart…”

His tear finds his cheek as he touches hers the same and whispers back, “With all my heart…”

Lips finds lips again. One last time maybe. If fate is cruel. If Heaven beckons new company. If blood is to be shed. If love’s happiness is to be short.

_If…_

There is no fast breakaway. There is no easy part. His fingers tangle and course into her hair. Hers travel thickly into his. The break of mouths feels forced. Tongues still taste.

Hearts still hold.

No further words. He wants to say them, but she shakes her head no. And he gets it. No more. Let that be the last.

Let that _never_ be the last.

Let more words always be there.

_Let love live._

_Please._

Hands meet. They hold on.

Hold.

Until the drag is too far apart. Until he is slipping outside the tent.

Until he is no longer there.

And lowering her head she looks to their bed. To the fuss of covers.

Then beyond. She goes to get it. The box that contains the Druid prayer. She gazes at the unfamiliar words again and lowers herself to her knees.

Clasps her hands in prayer above. And whispers.

“Please.

Just…

Please…”

…

She does not move.

For seconds.

For moments.

Long ones.

Until it comes.

The cacophony of sound.

The firestorm of war.


	12. Evermore

_ _

  
**Evermore Note** These have been a joy to write and have introduced me to so many wonderful Arwen writers, artists and friends. I wrote this part with the intention I’ve always used while writing the Chambers fics. So I’ve taken a few liberties, keeping most of the story within ‘chambers’ as much as I could, adding Arthur and Guinevere where I thought they were missed. This was the last one, ending as much in cannon as I could end it, with a little bit of hopeful future at the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Shared Chambers:** **_Evermore_**

Shouts of men.

Poundings of assault rock the earth.

Horses’ shrieks fill the night.

The strike of metal knells and clangors.

Gwen’s eyes open wide, her mouth educing a taut breath.

“It’s begun.”

She stands up, giving rapid scan of the tent’s interior.

_The battle’s begun._

Over there to the right are her riding skirt, belt, and vest. Her blouse lies alongside, but she looks past it to the white tunic that still lies upon the table. He was wearing it before he departed. He wore it after they shared their love together.

Gwen pulls her nightdress up and over her head in a rush.

It will only take moments probably for the wounded to be carried in. That will mean every hand that can be of assistance will be needed.

That was part of her work once anyway, assisting Gaius with the injured, and enough of those times it meant tending to Arthur too, with Morgana also assisting.

_Morgana has a larger army._

Gwen shakes her doubt away.

Perhaps Camelot’s army is much smaller than Morgana’s Saxons, and of course they don’t possess any magic, but they have a love of kingdom, love of their king, and that will make them the strongest fighters ever.

She knows it.

Gwen pulls on her skirt, belt, and reaches for her blouse.

His words of before echo in her ears.

_“There is no one in this world I love more than you.”_

No one for her either.

The shouts escalate. She must make haste.

Gwen neglects the blouse and grasps her husband’s white tunic, pulling it over her head. It is loose and so she slips it into the skirt, tightens the belt around, and wears the fur vest over, giving it a snugger fit. The sleeves are long and so she rolls them up, pulling on her boots afterward.

Getting to the tent’s flap, she gazes upon the bed, the covers still askew from their romancing and slumber. She moves to the edge and fingers the sheets, tangling them around her fingers.

“All I ask…is you keep him safe. Please Heavenly Father…

Guard my husband on the battlefield. Guard my precious Arthur.”

A few tears stray down her cheeks. She wipes them away rapidly and presses her hand against her heart, getting her mind into order.

“I need to be strong.”

She departs the tent.

No idle queen.

She will do her part, tending to the wounded as her husband fights the precarious battle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is blood seeping out of the tiny knots of chain. There is stillness upon a man surrounded by carnage.

He perches between the conscious world and the unconscious, a chimera fusing through his dormant mind.

_~~“Arthur…not again!”_

_He gives out a hiss of laughter and tightened pain as she rushes to his side. Gaius is there too, patting her hand as she frets._

_“He’ll be alright Gwen. Just a bit of rest.”_

_“I told you not to conduct knight training just after being ill!”_

_“Oh Guinevere…” Arthur waves his hand, letting out a shallow ‘ow.’ Even a wave hurts. She’s holding at his back and front, walking with him hurriedly, but carefully to their bed, turning backward for a moment._

_“Thank you Gaius. Oh and thank Merlin too. I’m sure he tried to stop him. But with how stubborn you are…”_

_Arthur flinches some at the direct strike. His wife’s firm anger is worse really than being hit by a mace in the side._

_Well almost._

_He watches as she fusses with the pillows, simultaneously hearing the door close to their chambers._

_“Come on then.” She grasps him around the shoulder and back. “Into bed, now.”_

_“Guine-_

_He stops midsentence. Her face says ‘do not quarrel with me’. Giving a heavy sigh, Arthur relents. “it was just a little cold Guin.”_

_He touches meagerly at his bandaged side, feeling her assisting him into the bed and laying the covers over so he is warm and content._

_It’s on her lips fast. “It was PNEUMONIA Arthur Pendragon. You had it for over a week. It was a breakout that affected much of the kingdom. Most of your men have been smart and wise enough to get the rest they need. But you insisted upon attending knight training even after you told me you would not go! You fibbed!”_

_He did. He’s sorry. It was one of the novel knights, just got his robes and all, who accidentally whacked him with the mace. Under normal conditions Arthur would have seen it coming right away, but he started feeling a little dizzy and well things went downhill from there. Now he has a thick bandage at his side and the pain is shrill enough even with the foul tasting tonic Gaius gave him._

_“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied.” He pouts. Although Guinevere’s anger is rare, you definitely don’t want to battle against it. You’ll lose._

_He hears his wife’s exasperated sigh and then feels her gentle kiss upon his warm sweaty forehead. “Oh.” She whispers, touching his cheek. “Why can’t I stay angry with you?”_

_He smiles. “Because I am the most dashing man you’ve ever known.”_

_“Oh I don’t know about that.” She states loosely, looking away from his pouting face._

_“Eh?” Arthur strongly objects, hearing his wife’s giggles that precede a kiss upon his brow._

_“Get some sleep.”_

_“Stay with me.”_

_“No. I’m going to get you something hot that will make you feel better.”_

_“Guinevere…” He whispers, shivering some._

_“Arthur…” Her hands touch his cheeks, fingers caressing. “I’ll be right back.”_

_“Alright…” He closes his eyes.~~_

The man surrounded by carnage, dreaming, does not feel the presence of another, does not wake as he is lifted away from the corpses by an elderly man in red robes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later he is missing.

She has pushed herself to help with the wounded, but it will soon be time to take down the tents and head home to Camelot. There are so many hurt that need to get the proper care that they can only obtain within the kingdom, and thus they will depart in the middle of the night.

Gwen goes to the table within their tent chambers and takes out the box. Holding the Druid prayer in her shaking hands, and then letting it go, she closes her eyes, clasps her fingers. “Please…I must see him again. I must.”

Every time Arthur has gone to battle he has come back.

Her husband is the strongest, fiercest warrior she’s ever known. As much as Gwen has never held any fondness towards Uther Pendragon, she is grateful to him for one vital thing. His steeliness caused him to raise a son who is battle ready, trained from the moment he could walk.

_He will come back._

She will see him again.

Her heart will feel him again.

She bravely smiles as she makes her way to the tent’s flaps. “Leon will find him. I’m sure of it.”

It is time to go back to Camelot. And soon enough he will be there too.

He will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He is lying by a burning fire in the middle of the wood. The elderly man is no more. In his place is someone young, familiar and troubled.

The king not yet knowing of this change, dreams.

_~~“Arthur Pendragon, didn’t I tell you to stay in this bed!”_

_He gives a heavy sigh as she rushes to his side and with her small, but forceful hands, pushes him back within the bedcovers._

_“You were gone so long. Guinevere…it hurts.”_

_Her expression tenders. She sits near him, asking, “What hurts?”_

_“My side.”_

_His wife smiles, such a pretty sight in perhaps his favorite dress that she owns, the blue one. “Oh now Arthur. Of course it hurts. You were hit by a mace.”_

_Her fingers start to cross his brow, and he asks, “You’re still mad at me?”_

_He hears her sweet laughter and feels her kiss upon his cheek. “No. You’re forgiven. Enough talking. Open your mouth.”_

_He does so with pleasure and tastes not her, but…_

_“Oh.”_

_She grins. “Not what you were expecting, yes I know. But it’s good?”_

_“Mmm…” It’s warm and takes away a bit of the dizziness. “Yes…More.”_

_She honors his request.~~_

The chimera flows and drifts.

He awakens finally to see the fire, the young troubled man, and to feel an agony that jars like an angry siren at his upper body.

The young troubled man is his servant who tells him something that nearly eclipses the pain in his body, filling him with a cacophony of uneasiness.

They’re too much, the pain and the revelation. It makes him shake and shiver.

His servant moves away from him; once again his eyes grow tired and he dreams once more.

_~~“Told you that you should take it easy, didn’t I? But did you listen to me? No…of course not. You clotpole, you.”_

_Arthur blinks. What happened to Guinevere? Why is Merlin in their chambers now, putting logs in the hearth? “What are you doing? Where is my wife?”_

_Merlin shakes his head as if Arthur is silly. “What does it look like I’m doing? Starting a fire up for you.” His eyes glow. Foreign words come out of his mouth._

_“Merlin!” Arthur reacts wildly, staring at his servant and the strongly burning flames within the hearth. “Merlin, you’re a—a-_

_Merlin stares at him now, like he is afraid. “Arthur?” He starts backing up._

_Arthur’s side is in pain, but still he cannot gather enough distance. “Get away…get-get-_

_Merlin runs out of the room._

_Arthur is breathing hard, clamoring on the bed, trying to get away when hands hold his shoulders._

_Familiar beautiful ones._

_“Arthur…Arthur calm down. Arthur, stop now. Relax.”_

_It’s his Guinevere. He points to the hearth. To the door. “Merlin-Merlin’s a sorcerer.”_

_“What?” She looks at him with puzzlement in her deep brown eyes._

_“He is…he’s a-he’s…”_

_His voice is drifting. The pain is coarse._

_Her voice is still questioning. “Arthur…Arthur?”~~_

The chimera fades. The blade’s poison climbs higher. He grunts some in his sleep. His brow is wet, a little hot.

Beyond him sits the servant, the sorcerer, despondent, rejected.

And yet always watching out for his friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is just past the hour of dawn when they return to Camelot. Sadly many bodies are carried along too. So many, this night, have lost their lives. At least the war is over, now just a tragic ripped parchment of memory.

She is within their shared chambers, fur gone and skirt removed too. And yet still she is clad in his tunic. Its fragile pale material crosses over her bare skin, shrouds her thighs, meets her knees. There is a fire in the hearth, creating escalating warmth, as she sits upon the corner of their bed furniture, waiting, hoping.

Years ago it happened. It was no battle like this one, something much simpler.

It was the first time, since marriage, she had to wait for him to come back.

That night she clutched her ring finger, holding it against her lips.

When…

_“Miss me?”_

_She turns around, seeing him standing there, a thick bandage around his head. “Arthur?”_

_He touches at the bandage sheepishly. “I got knocked in the head with the blunt end. Merlin, as clumsy as he is, tended to me quite well, according to Gaius. I would have been up these steps faster, but Gaius met me on the back end and silly Merlin insisted I get checked. Anyhow, I’m here now-_

_He can’t finish the last part. Her skirts fisted in her hands, Gwen runs across the room and embraces him like she hasn’t seen him in years. “Oh Arthur!”_

_Laughing a bit, he grasps her waist and holds her up against him, his other hand going to her hair, smoothing at the curls. “Oh now…shhhh…it’s alright. Haven’t I told you before, you’ll always have me to contend with. You don’t have to worry.”_

_He pulls away, looking into her wet eyes. Gwen lets out a brave smile as he wipes them away with a few fingers, whispering firmly. “I’ll never leave you.”_

_So young, so new to marriage, and so loving of it, every bit, all the way from the fantastic moments of passion to the trivial mundane council meetings, she wants to keep him to those words. “You promise?”_

_He smiles, pressing his lips devoutly against hers. “I promise. As far as I am able, Guinevere, I will come home to you. Always.”_

As far as he is able.

A promise with conditions. She knew it then. She knows it now. He meant every word. But he could not predict.

No one can. What if-

Gwen moves away from the bed, shaking her head hard. “No. No.” She presses her hand to her heart, within the material, holds it there at her naked breast, her eyes closing for a moment, and then opening with firm resolve. “I can feel it. I can feel you. I know it. I know you’re still alive.”

She wraps her arms around herself, rocking slightly, doing everything to feel the comfort of his heart, his breathing, his returning.

“You’re alive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another night comes. He has been tended to, but still his body aches. Still it burns with magical poison. One, who is young, who is shown now to have hidden much, resigns himself to the wait until morning. The other, an elder, understands the heft of fate.

As the king once more dreams…

_~~Guinevere is out of the room again. Why? Gaius is there as Arthur rants about Merlin, but Gaius shakes his head, holds his shoulder, and tells him something firm and reassuring._

_“Sire, the mace that collided with your side injured you. Keep making a fuss and you will hurt yourself more.”_

_“But…” Arthur rants with cumbrous breaths. “He’s a sorcerer Gaius. He’s lied to us!”_

_Gaius just gives a genial smile, shaking his head. “So he is. A sorcerer, but no lies. You will see all soon. What he has done for you. Now enough. You must lie still Sire.”_

_“But Gaius-_

_“Gaius is right.” Guinevere comes into the room now, smiling at the elderly man and simply nodding her head as he departs their chambers. “Arthur…you need to compose yourself.”_

_“But Merlin is-_

_Her finger firmly moves against his lip. “Enough I said. You need your rest.”_

_He starts to protest more when the vertigo sails in with defter feel and his eyes grow weary. He sighs with request. “Sleep with me.”_

_“Arthur, I’m always with you.” Guinevere tells him simply, pressing her lips against his. “Now close your eyes. Rest my husband.”_

_Her fingers gently brush back the damp strands of hair from his warm forehead._

_“Rest.”~~_

The chimera fades away, but the magical poison does not. It seeks its target, probing for the king’s heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Miles from the king, that same night, the queen questions his continued absence.

Many patrols have gone to look for him without any findings.

“He is alive.” Gwen whispers to herself with determination. He is not the only one missing though.

After the battle was over, there was so much chaos, running from one tent to another, helping with the injured. She lost sight of Gaius.

No Arthur and no Gaius, and actually come to think of it, where is Merlin?

Deep in wonder, trying to keep her mind in calm order, Gwen hears a sound coming from outside hers and Arthur’s chambers. She rushes to the door and opens it. “Gwaine.”

His expression is haggard, no doubt why after the ferocity of battle and its many tragedies.

“May I have a moment with you?”

“Certainly my Lady.” His regal subdued response is a far cry from the sweet-talking Gwaine who tried to charm his way with her before he realized she had eyes for another years ago. It saddens her some to see. Not even knighthood has totally tamed Gwaine, to which Arthur has admitted to her enough times he’s glad it hasn’t. Although Sir Gwaine’s stomach can be of a hindrance on long treks from Camelot, everyone within the kingdom likes his witty spontaneity.

There is not much of that now though.

He enters and she closes the door just slightly. Then taking hold of his wrist, she gets him to move with her to the far corner of the room. “I need to ask you something.”

“Of course my Lady.”

“It was you who took Merlin on his errand, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he go?”

Gwaine shakes his head, getting Gwen to hold tight to his hand.

“My la-

He starts to say, but she is insistent. “Gwaine, Arthur has been missing since the battle. My heart-

She presses hard against it, turning away for a moment, but then Gwaine’s hand is touching her shoulder. “Gwen.”

“Please.” She beseeches him, wiping away the few tears that try to leak out. “I just need to know if possibly Merlin would know where-

“Gwen…” Gwaine gives out a pained sigh. “Last I saw Merlin was at some cave within the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He didn’t want me to go further with him. He said he’d be fine. I had my doubts about leaving him there, but you know Merlin…he always gets out of everything. I’m sure he’ll get out of this too.”

“Gwaine, that area is filled with bandits. It’s dangerous.”

He nods. “Yeah I know. But Merlin insisted that everything would be okay. He has those looks Gwen that are hard to describe. You can simply tell that he’s not scared and that he has something in mind that no one can interfere with. I left him with one of my swords anyway.”

The answer gives her no security of reassurance about Arthur, and raises more questions about Merlin too. Every time Arthur has been gone from Camelot it seems Merlin has been with him. So what was so important that Merlin couldn’t be with him this time?

“Gwen.”

It’s obvious more tears have fallen as Gwaine gently wipes one from near her shoulder, peering up into her eyes. “Don’t let go of your hope.” He reaches out for her hand, holding it gently. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you all those years back. Well that and how pretty you were, like a princess, and now you’re Camelot’s Queen.”

Gwen smiles bravely at the compliment, admitting with an anxious sigh. “I just want him to come home.”

“I know. You have to believe he will.”

She can see that he has no more to say, and honestly she expects no more.

“Thank you Gwaine.”

He nods and exits the room. Gwen closes the door behind him and looks down upon the bed.

His weight, on his side of the bed, is usually there by this time, causing the slight shift.

But there is none this night. No shift of his side.

No husband to lie next to.

Just the neatest covers in place.

_Awfully in place._

It takes everything in her exhausted body, still fully dressed in her lavender gown, to lay upon the sheets and covers, to hold tight to his pillow, asking,

“Where are you Arthur?” Her tears no longer allow denial.

“Where are you my love?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning comes. The sun’s shine is at best a fragile glare that must battle its way through the murky haze.

The past day the queen kept busy by helping with those injured during Camlann, meeting with the council, checking in with the castle staff, and assuring the knights order with Sir Leon.

Now she stands at the window, the morning still so early as she waits for some sign from the multitudes of patrols sent out.

Any sign.

And then it comes as she views Gaius riding up to the palace, Gwaine meeting him. Her heart beating fast, Gwen runs out of hers and Arthur’s chambers.

The talk downstairs is oddly balanced with hope and anxiety. Although Gaius assures her that Arthur is alive, he also gives her the Royal Seal, stating how Arthur wanted her to have it. No type of gift, it is an object she’d rather not be holding for its meaning is so barbed. Finally the mystery of Merlin is revealed. Of course he is with Arthur. Somehow she is not that surprised, maybe having always known it deep in her heart. What is shocking is that Merlin wants to travel with Arthur alone. How can Merlin defend both of them? Gwen wonders.

However there is more. Gaius starts to tell her it with Gwaine in attendance, but then she silences him, gesturing for them both to follow her up the steps. She leads them into hers and Arthur chambers.

“I don’t want anyone to hear. That face you made downstairs Gaius, I saw it, Gwaine you saw it too, yes?”

The knight nods his head. “Yeah, what is it Gaius?”

The elderly man frowns gravely. “The girl, Eira, I believe and Merlin does too that she has betrayed us.”

Gwaine shakes his head with bewilderment. “What?”

“How do you know this, Gaius?” Gwen asks, the Royal Seal rubbing against her fingers, the coarse rope scratching at her skin.

The elderly man explains how it is clear Morgana knew of their battle plans well ahead of time, their aim to surprise Morgana’s Saxons at Camlann, everything.

Gwen’s eyes widen. “How did she learn this? Was she spying, listening in? I don’t understand. How did Eira learn of this when she had only been in Camelot a day or two?”

Gaius looks to Gwaine, which makes Gwen turn from one to the other. “Gwaine?”

The knight lowers his head, his expression so defeated, so self loathing. “It was me. I told her.”

Gaius isn’t that surprised, but Gwen’s eyes widen more. “You told her? Why?”

Looking to the wall for a moment, in his mind the men who had been lost, friends, brothers in arms, Gwaine grits his teeth. “I didn’t mean to my Lady. It was just…conversation. Stupid…conversation.”

Horrified, Gwen looks down at the seal, back to Gwaine, who is avoiding her eyes now. “Oh my God…” She pushes her hand against her heart. “Oh Gwaine…”

Gaius, knowing that time is not in their favor, points it out. “Morgana probably would have found out anyway. If not Eira…from someone else.”

Gwen nods her head, her heart panging bitterly. She clears her throat, lifting her head with determination. “The only thing that matters now is that Morgana does not find out where Merlin is taking Arthur. And that Eira pays for her crimes.” Her expression holds no forgiveness, and yet no vengeance either. She simply wants justice and the safety of her husband and his friend.

“She trusts me.” Gwaine whispers now, before speaking louder. “She’s charmed by me.” It is something he usually boasts about. Now it is just a way to hopefully end this whole nightmare. It hurts, because truly he had begun to care for her. He had…trusted her. Now she is the reason for so many dead.

“I can mislead her.”

Gwen nods, her expression stalwart, she is all purpose. “And so you will Sir Gwaine. You will tell her that Arthur and Merlin are heading in the opposite direction. And then when she tries to send message to Morgana, we will be ready.”

She sends them both away, telling Gwaine to communicate the plan to only a few knights, including Sir Leon who she knows will make sure everything is done right.

After both depart, Gwen sinks to the chair that sits at the table where Arthur just days ago was planning the war out. She clutches the seal in her fingers.

Her hands tremble, clasped in prayer as she bows her head down, her lips wetting the ring and cord as they graze against.

As she pleads.

“Oh for the love of Camelot…merciful Heaven…

Bring him back…

Let him come home to me…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another night commences. The poisoned magic persists, traversing through his body, getting, closer, _closer_. It makes his voice weaker, his periods of sleep deeper. As the chimera continue to linger.

_~~He shivers as once more Guinevere is not in the room. He tries to move on the bed, but there are pricks of hurt that won’t let him shift. He looks to the hearth, seeing a shadowed figure there. “Merlin.”_

_The servant and sorcerer turns around, his eyes shining just a touch. Not by magic. By wetness instead._

_Arthur grunts uneasily, angrily. Merlin gives an odd display of what he can do with his magic. Arthur’s breathing speeds up as a chair slides across the floor, and a pitcher moves near where he lays. When Merlin stands afterward, Arthur grunts again, stressing to get up. But he can’t._

_Can’t move._

_Merlin sits down in the chair and pours the contents of the pitcher into a cup, whispering, “You need to keep your strength up. This will help.”_

_Bewildered, Arthur can barely object as the cup is lifted to his parched lips. He drinks some and then shakes his head. “Why…why?”_

_Not much else gets out. His eyes drift closed._

_And then soft hands are touching him._

_“Guinevere…” He breathes fast._

_“Shhhh…” She gently fingers his cheek. “Everything’s alright Arthur. Just rest.”_

_“But Merlin-_

_“Arthur…” She tells him softly, but with added firmness. “Do as I say. Lie still and rest.”_

_“Stay.” Oh, his side hurts so much now. He brings his hand down, but she stops its progress._

_“Of course I will stay with you. Always. Now rest Arthur. Rest.”~~_

Like that he finds sleep, but his body is having a harder time fighting what is trying to poison it. His body is growing weaker.

Feebler.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s done. They have her. Gwen is within hers and Arthur’s chambers, holding the Royal Seal between her fingers, standing at the window. Looking out.

“My Lady.”

She turns around, seeing Gwaine standing there, his eyes looking pained. “Sir Gwaine.”

His brow wrinkles, his head shaking.

She puts up her hand. “I know you had feelings for her. But the judgment stands. She will hang tomorrow for her crimes.”

“Gwen-

That makes her suddenly angry. She turns around in a rush, her tone authoritative. “Don’t think of asking me to spare her. That woman caused the death of many fine men of Camelot! Your fellow knights. And her treachery may have also resulted in---oh-

Her voice starting to break, Gwaine takes slow steps forward, meeting his queen in the middle, but she does not let him reach for her hands this time. So he has to relent. “I just wanted to say…I’m sorry. And to not lose hope. Merlin’s a sturdy one and Arthur…”

She stares at him, her eyes wide, the one way to keep the tears from falling again. If she doesn’t blink, they won’t come. She shakes her head. “Apologies are not needed. I know you meant no wrong. But it was a mistake to confide in her. I just hope you realize that now.”

“I do.” He tells her flatly.

Gwen nods; her fingers touched by sweat, having held the seal for so long, drop it. She looks down upon the floor like it is a bottomless ocean.

Gwaine squats down and picks up the ring. “Here.” He hands it back to her.

Her hands press against her mouth and the tears come, that one act of kindness blowing away her firm resolve. Gwaine reaches out, but a hug, with Arthur missing, feels wrong, especially after what he has done. So Gwaine grasps Gwen’s arms instead, telling her the best he can, “I am so sorry. You can’t stop believing though. You always have hope Gwen. Don’t let it go. Keep what you have inside, believe.”

She shakes her head, whispering the dreaded thing. “But what if…what if this time he doesn’t come home Gwaine?”

He thinks of the family members he’s lost, the day that Lancelot sacrificed himself, the horrible day Elyan was killed. He thinks of what it feels like before death swims into the mortal world.

“Can you still feel him?”

Gwen lifts her hand, presses it against her heart. “Yes.”

“Then have faith in that.”

She nods and moves apart from him.

Gwaine knows why. Things are different between them now, even between him and the knights. He only has one purpose now, one fueled endeavor.

_One._

He backs out of the room and Gwen sinks down upon the bed, one hand at her heart, one at her stomach. She hasn’t eaten that much in the past days, hasn’t desired to. It’s not a big thing. She’s always been a light eater, having grown up meagerly.

She hungers for only one entity.

Him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning comes and with it a sign of hope, of beautiful sweet hope. Even the sun is stronger in the sky. It will be a lovely day, a day of renewal, Gwen can feel it. She treads around the room with purpose and then stops, peering at the table, gazing at it with light in her face.

The gillyflowers that Arthur gave her, every day they’ve been sitting in water. They’ve grown some, but also some of the flowers have already dried out. And yet at the tip of one stem, there it is. A bright new bud. Just starting to blossom. Just finding its way into the world. Her face glows with excitement, her mouth forming a happy smile as she touches her heart.

“It’s a sign. I know it is. A wonderful sign.”

There’s more too. She thought of it last night, not able to sleep that well and so giving up, letting her mind ponder. Gaius persuaded her that Merlin would be able get Arthur to the mysterious isle, that Gaius still had not named, only told her the direction of. He strangely had no doubt that Merlin could get Arthur there by himself, _against Morgana_ , a sorceress.

Beyond that was the bearded sorcerer, the man that Gaius seemed to know, the one that ended the battle, fighting for the side of Camelot.

Could it be possible?

Gwen gazes at the precious bud.

Arthur has the protection of someone of great ability. That must be why this sign of life has come.

_Arthur has…_

Oh. Enough thinking about it! She needs to go downstairs. Find out for sure. Quickly dress and find it out.

Gwen rushes around her room with the biggest burst of excitement she’s had in days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After her talk with Gaius the bud still quakes with beautiful beginnings of life. Gaius has told her for certain, in his own somewhat cryptic, but caring way. Merlin is the one with Arthur of course, but there are new revelations. Merlin is the one who was the bearded man on that hillside. Merlin is a sorcerer of the kind of power she’s never encountered before.

It heartens her because it’s been true from the commencing time Merlin came to Camelot. Oh he fussed and he argued against it, but Merlin has always shared a special bond with Arthur. He has always looked out for him. He is the kind of friend who is true and his being a sorcerer makes that no less. She imagines if Arthur knows now it must be quite a shock to him.

But it will be alright. Gwen knows in her heart. Arthur will see all that Merlin has done for him. Her husband, a man of such profound heart, as stubborn as he can be, will see.

“Oh…” Gwen lets out a long sigh. Now she must do her royal duty. They will be waiting for her to step out upon the balcony for Eira’s hanging. There is no joy, no vengeance, no excitement in Gwen’s soul to hang a person. It is simply the right judgment to be done. Because of Eira there has been so much death, so many mournings of family, of friends. It can’t be forgotten. It can’t be let go of.

She looks down upon the royal seal, held in her fingers, and kisses the gold. “Oh Arthur, I wish you were here with me. I’ve never done this alone before. And it won’t be like Sefa. Nothing will stop this.” She thinks in her heart that nothing should. Eira has written out her own fate, made poor choices and so now it comes to this. It is fair. It is right.

It is just not easy without the man she loves. She clasps the ring, holding it to her heart. “You’ll come back to me. Soon. Merlin will bring you back.”

She takes a long breath and moves to the balcony.

It is time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Evening comes once more. The king’s battered body barely functions, the poison ruthlessly carving its way to his heart. Usually a man of action, so used to traversing beyond pain, his weakness is palpable now as he negates his servant’s anxious insistence to go further. The veracity of it is he simply can’t, the ride too jarring to his chest and side. Rest is required, a reprieve from the constant momentum and so the servant agrees reluctantly to an hour of it.

Soon the king drifts into unconsciousness and once more enters the hazy and sometimes bizarre world of dreams.

_~~“Okay now eat up.” Arthur looks down to the bowl in his hand that his servant is helping him with. Then gazing upward to the servant, he sees him in patches of heavy obscurity. “Why am I so dizzy?”_

_Merlin laughs. “It’s the mace that hit you. Square in the side. Could have used my magic to stop it, but that would have just upset you-_

_It comes to Arthur now, wonderingly, how Merlin helps him, every time. How he is there-_

_“Is he quarreling with you about eating, again?”_

_Merlin laughs further, a rich room-filling sound as Guinevere reenters. Arthur calls out. “Guinevere…Merlin’s a sorcerer.” There are bits of shakiness in his voice, but beginning understanding is there now too. “Says he does it to help me.”_

_“Yeah…even when you’re a cabbagehead.”_

_“Idiot.”_

_“Oh now that’s enough.” Guinevere tells them strongly, and yet a smile finds her lips. “Merlin, thank you for tending to him when I couldn’t be here.”_

_“Of course.” Merlin smiles and walks out of the room._

_Arthur’s eyes close for a few moments, his breathing heavy. Hands, full of purpose, but also gentling, lift his shoulders, to bring him against a familiar heart and breast. He relaxes, his wife’s touch comforting and desired._

_“Your brow’s too hot.” She complains, wiping at his forehead with a cool cloth. “I told you that you weren’t ready. Should have had another day of rest. Now you’re going to have to stay in bed for at least a week.”_

_“A week, Guinevere?” Arthur asks with a boyish groan because he does not like being complacent and staying in bed. Always moving, he can’t imagine a full week of bed rest._

_There’s no give in Guinevere’s strict expression as she tells him, “Yes, one full week Arthur Pendragon.” She taps his chin and softly kisses his lips, a small smile finding her face. Arthur’s hand strays to her breast, noticing that she is in her nightdress now, the soft flowering texture allowing him to easily feel the defined curves of her body._

_“Mmm…you’re staying this time, right?” He asks her sleepily._

_She gives a pair of kisses to his cheeks. “I am…all the palace work is done.”_

_“You’re not upset that Merlin’s a sorcerer?”_

_Guinevere’s expression is adamant. “Of course not. Arthur, you two have known each other for so long. Merlin has always been there for you. Nothing in him has changed. He’s still the same person, simply has magic.”_

_Arthur sighs, nodding his head. “Yeah…I suppose he is.”_

_“Mmm…”_

_He grunts in discomfort, his side giving out little lightning sparks of pain. “Uh…”_

_“Easy, Arthur.” She coos, coaxing him back to sleep, her fingers composing loving trails through his hair. “Just relax. Don’t move. Stay still and close your eyes. Rest Arthur…rest.”~~_

With that the king falls asleep within dream as he sleeps too within reality. There is little that is better though. When his servant sharply wakes him and tells him that they cannot wait any longer, the poisoned blade is inches from discovering his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day passes, the ugly hanging event over, and the waiting still going on. All day Gwen has tended to her work with fragile hope and soberness. There is no joy in another life taken, but it is of sad necessity. One person has no right to allow so many other lives to be stolen away. That is what Eira’s selfishness of choice allowed.

Gwen has no regrets for what she has done and has no belief that Arthur would have acted differently.

Instead there is something else that nags, and so she calls the physician to her chambers.

“Gaius, thank you for coming.”

“My Lady.”

“This won’t be long. I just need to ask you something.”

Gaius is protocol as usual, but there are shards of heaviness in his face too. Gwen can see it plainly now that her strong hope of earlier might be just a bit tempered.

“What is it my Lady?”

Gwen looks him straight in the eye. She wants no avoidance. “You said Arthur was wounded in the battle.”

“Yes.” Gaius states gravely, but cautiously. With Morgana in pursuit of Merlin and Arthur, one, if not more, will have to die, for Morgana will never give up, and neither will Merlin.

“Wounded by many…or by one?”

Gaius stills at the question, seeing the strong insistence for an honest answer in the queen’s eyes.

It brings him to think about her growth and Arthur’s, as he has known both for many years now. With Arthur it has been since birth. A time of what was to be joy, turning awfully tragic after Ygraine breathed her last.

Ygraine was a well loved queen, who had an abundant heart that she shared openly with the people. She balanced Uther well, for while he was so firm in decision making, rightfully or wrongly, Ygraine often helped him to listen to others. Having been born into royalty too, Ygraine was very in tune to expectations and rules of conduct.

Arthur’s birth, what was meant to be a time of celebration, was shrouded in tragedy and horrific pain of sudden change: The Great Purge. It hardened Uther when Ygraine died. It maddened him. And so tragically his son grew up without much love, coveting it urgently at times, before he covered the desire with arrogance to not look too weak.

And yet that heart still festered.

It is why, when he and Merlin started to trust each other, Arthur looked out for Merlin as much as Merlin did for him. It is why Arthur never wanted to believe his Uncle Agravaine would deceive him. It is why Morgana’s betrayal hurt Arthur so deeply. It is why in the face of horrific war, one without much chance to come back, Arthur chose as he had chosen many times before, to fight alongside his men that he loves beyond brotherhood.

And it is why Arthur did not marry for political reason alone, but for true and abiding love, the kind he has for this woman who has grown so much over the years. Truly, she has matured into a queen of such tremendous composure, valor and wisdom, it is as if she was born to the role.

Now this queen asks him a question that he cannot retreat from, the truth not the gentlest answer. It was no mere sword that cut through Arthur’s chest. It was borne of magic and so as such, is meant to solidly wipe him from the land.

“There is possibility of both my Lady. Arthur had more than one superficial wound.”

Gwen frowns, as it is obvious those superficial wounds are not what bother the physician. “Gaius.”

“Yes. Well one was more immersed. It is because of that grave wound Merlin travels to get the king the healing he needs.”

“And who delivered it, do you know?”

Severely, Gaius nods. “Mordred. As he is dead now too. Merlin saw him slain.”

Gwen presses her hand against her heart, the Seal’s rope tangled within her fingers. Suddenly the hope doesn’t feel so full. It does not matter that Mordred died too. It matters what he did before his last breath. “Thank you Gaius.”

She manages to eke out. The elderly man moves forward, gently grasping her hands. “We must not give up hope Gwen. We must believe that Merlin will get him there in time.”

Her body trembling just a bit, she asks him stolidly, “Do you believe that Gaius? That Merlin can get Arthur to that mysterious isle you spoke of…in enough time? Do you think it is possible?”

Gaius shakes his head, his wrinkled skin ever so evident and his age of knowledge a weight upon his face. “Anything is possible Gwen. I believe it is Merlin, and Merlin alone now who can save Arthur.”

Gwen nods, a glimmer of a smile on her face as she squeezes Gaius’s hands and barely lets out in a whisper. “Thank you Gaius.”

It is a gentle dismissal. The elderly physician leaves her and Gwen holds still until the door closes. When it is shut she heads to the furniture at her side of the bed and takes it out, the box, and the Druid prayer.

One Druid…foretold to exact the life of the King of Camelot. After Uther’s demise, said to be his son, for the belief of the Druids that he has not healed the wounds, has not lifted the ban on magic.

To them just a king. To her…a husband…to love…to make her heart tremble now for his return.

“Oh…” She holds the Druid prayer in shaking hands, before dropping it to the furniture, not wanting to gaze upon its foreshadowing foreign script anymore. She goes to the table where the gillyflowers sit and sees it. The bud still continues to bloom.

However, another full flower has dried up.

That is almost all of them now.

It echoes the dryness in her clamoring heart.

Gwen changes out of her clothes, into her nightdress, the one her husband had made for her…

_“Time for bed.”_

_He presses his lips lovingly to hers. “Yes, and with it, a present for my wife.”_

_Gwen gazes in wonder at the package her husband holds. “Arthur.”_

_“Go on, open it.” He tells her with the excited grin of a young boy._

_She lets out a small laugh and releases the heavy packaging from its twine bindings. Once it’s all gone, she stares with disbelief. “Arthur…” She murmurs._

_There is no more boys’ excitement in his eyes now, instead a husband’s glow of happiness, as her reaction seems to be the one he has wanted._

_He gestures and so she unfolds the beautiful material, a color not so pale, not so stark. Instead it inhabits a sweet in between, with just a hint of golden glow. The sleeves are flowing. There is a bit of flair at the back, gentle, soft. The bodice has a charming, but sweet dip. Nothing lascivious. It is elegantly meant to flow to her body’s natural curvature. The completion of all this sophisticated beauty are the intricately embroidered flowers of golden resplendence that extol the bodice._

_His hands move to her curls of hair, not yet bound for the night, his fingers coiling through them as he looks her in the eye. “I wanted something that was like you. That would show as close as possible to your beauty, your wonder of life. See, the coloring is like this.”_

_He touches her cheek, further down to her shoulder, the commencement of her breast. “Like your skin. Somehow blessed by the golden sun. Radiances of it that bring this glow I cannot even fathom how it is brought to life. Every time I look upon you, it is simply there for me to marvel at.”_

_“Arthur…” Tears shine in her eyes, but he is not done._

_“And the flowers. I still remember that first time I stayed at your home, your little precious home that I know you loved so much. I’m glad we were able to find a small family worthy to take it over. I stayed there and you know how I was then, a bit vain at times, so used to grandeur, not yet a man fully, and so not as appreciative as I should have been. But I’d wake up in the morning and I’d inhale it. When I kissed you the first time it was there too. And every time after. It’s like the flowers are a part of you. All these gillyflowers and every other type you love so much. They are within you. Growing. Blooming. Such a surprise of life, and fascination of you.”_

_She lowers her head, feeling the tears trailing down her cheeks, feeling his hands on her arms. “I said it once before.” He lifts her face so that she can read his eyes. The blue in them is so vivid now, so full of the ocean and sky._

_“I’ll say it again. You have never…_

_Ever…my love…failed to surprise me. You thrill me Guinevere. I stayed in your house and you called me a pig.”_

_She protests right away. “I did not call you that. I said you made sounds like one. In sleep. And it was truthful because you do.”_

_He laughs softly, with just a hint of a disapproving grunt. “Alright, well. I know you got pretty mad at me then. Doubt you were that happy too that my mattress caused some issues with your door.”_

_“Well it never shut the same again.” Gwen tells him strongly._

_It makes Arthur smile. He loves when she is strong and forceful. “Merlin’s fault.”_

_She shakes her head at that and he moves around her, gently taking the nightgown from her hands. “May I?”_

_She nods, feeling his hands reach around as he gets her to move off the bed with him. He stands right behind, removing her clothing, her lavender dress. “So beautiful. But I think the blue one’s my favorite.”_

_She laughs at that, giving a spark filled look. “I know.”_

_He gets it away from her body, the lavender dress, and then the kinds of things women wear to enhance their constitutions. “Not needed.” He tells her in reference to those undergarments, softly, a hint of seduction in his voice._

_She blushes a bit. Arthur is always quite appreciative of her body now that he has seen it and she loves his attentions, but still sometimes with marriage anew, it can catch her off guard…just…how…attentive he can be._

_Everything is taken away, but the underwear that hugs her hips and thighs. He strokes her breasts with his fingers lightly, wrapping his arms around from behind, nuzzling his face into her hair and inhaling with slow appreciation. “I love you…how you feel against me…every gorgeous curve, your skin so soft…full of warm sweet scents…it entices me into a fever that here in our chambers, you are the sole cure for. Evermore Guinevere. You for me._

_And vice versa whenever you want…my love.”_

_“Arthur…”_

_Her hands move in front too, clasping his. Her fingers intertwine with his fingers that lay over her breasts. She moves her head back to feel him even stronger. His lips descend upon hers and she parts hers to feel the fullness of him, to taste the beautiful revelation her husband is. As this continues on the flowing material of the nightdress comes over her body, falling gracefully around. She feels its wonderful texture, the floating sleeves, the way it softly hugs her body._

_“Oh Arthur I love it so much. Love you so much, always, evermore.”_

_He smiles at her appreciation of his gift. “I love it too…and you.” However he teases naughtily, as he breaks away for a moment to view just how perfectly the nightdress is made for her alluring form._

_“But I must warn...”_

_He’s grinning with so much wicked promise._

_“I doubt you’ll be wearing it for that long tonight.”_

_“Whatever do you mean Arthur?” She can’t help but tease back._

_“This.” He tells her strongly and grasping her waist, flips her backward on the bed._

_Gwen lets out a thrill of laughter as her head hits the pillow and he makes his move, kissing her passionately, just the beginning of making his promise come true..._

The nightdress adoring her body like it did that night, like it has so many, she can’t help but feel cold, can’t help but shiver even with the glowing flames in the hearth. She wants him to come home, but her hope in that is starting to flicker some, like a candle’s flame losing its sinew.

Her body seeks his side of the bed. She gathers his pillow into her arms, his white tunic there too, clenched within her fingers.

Her voice is hollow as she whispers, “I miss you Arthur my love. Come home to me…Arthur…

Come home to our chambers. So we can share them together again. I will cure you of any fever, evermore, I will. I will hold you till any sickness is gone. Just come home. Come share our chambers with me. Arthur…come...”

There is no answer. There is no husband’s grin. No promise. No kiss to warm her. No hold to embrace her.

And so sleep does not find her with ease. Instead she spends most the night pleading in her heart for a miracle.

A magical miracle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When morning comes Gwen once again tends to her tasks, this day wearing his favorite dress, the blue one. Actually he has admitted times enough that each holds a special attraction for him, but there’s something about this one that makes it just utterly sumptuous for him so much so that sometimes during council meetings he’s given her very saucy looks…

_“You know as you were arguing the reason why the um…what is that stupid committee called again?”_

_She giggles at his unappreciative term. It is kind of silly though, how many committees are within the noble house. “The royal palace decorating association.”_

_“Yeah, that.” He rolls his eyes. “Who in all of Camelot thought of such an inane committee?”_

_“I say we end it.” She tells him with a firm look. There are other more important things that sub-committee councils can be made for._

_“Agreed, but anyway, back to the other matter. The way you looked in that dress, how your brilliantly florid breasts kept heaving upon that silky blue material each time you passionately made your point, was quite invigorating.”_

_“Oh my.” Gwen presses her hand to her chest in mock anguish. “Do you think members of the council noticed?”_

_He gives a strong shake of his head. “Oh most certainly not. It was one of those husband type things, you know my Love? Only I could see it of course.”_

_She fingers within his tunic as he strokes her waist and then lower royal backside, appreciating her round little bottom._

_“And were you having any other husbandly thoughts?”_

_He moves in closer, grasping some of her teasing little curls and whispering heavily, “Absolutely. Like how I wanted to make all the council members disappear so you and I could be alone.”_

_“To proceed with what type of action, my Lord?”_

_“The kind that would put that long table to the utmost proper use.”_

_She toys with his chest, fingering within his tunic lazily. “So we’d use it then?”_

_He smirks, sucking at her bottom lip. “Indeed…my lady.”_

_“And once you had me atop that table what would you dare to do with me?”_

_“Many things.” He whispers hotly into her ear._

_“Such…as?”_

_He moves his fingers suggestively within her dress’s sculpt and then underneath the hem. “A little of this…”_

_They, his naughty fingers that is, get more risqué. “And a lot of that…”_

_“Hmmm…” She hums with sensual pleasure. “I think I’d just spring upon your manly lower half and see if we could make that council table brandish…properly.”_

_“I am most agreeable to that.” He grins._

_She nods and after taking a look around the room opens her mouth with delight at what she spots. “We have a table my Love. Right here within our chambers.”_

_He lifts his eyebrows like it’s a new knowledge. “So we do!”_

_“Shall we test it, our important council meeting theories that is?”_

_“I think we shall.” He says with propriety. And then without much propriety is sweeping her up into his arms, and bringing her round little bottom down flat upon the table. There is a candleholder on the side. Gwen reaches for it and hands it to him. “Don’t want that to get in the way.”_

_He nods his head with an approving smile. “No. Right as always.”_

_He places it down upon the floor and each gives a dirty little giggle as he lowers her to the table and climbs atop too to start their fun. When she objects to the table’s coarseness, he goes to get a blanket to make all better. As he returns she smiles with gratitude before promptly pulling on his tunic with a lustful grunt and pushing him down so now it is his manly bottom that is feeling the table’s topside, oh and blanket too._

_“Guinevere!” He laughs with surprise._

_“I told you I had a strong desire to be the one who does the springing.” She coos, stroking his muscled chest._

_His hands climb up and over her shiny form fitting blue dress, then saunter inside, caressing the bare skin of her thighs. “Well actually I quite like you from this vantage point.” He whispers seductively, getting further within the dress and giving her bottom a teasing love tap._

_“Oh!” She lets out at his hand’s contact, but then it is soon him letting out the ‘oh’s as she commences to steer/ direct the physical action…_

_And her husband._

_Suffice to say, soon enough, that table brandishes quite…properly…and with strong impropriety._

_…_

_“Oh…I don’t want to move.”_

_“Me either.” She smiles lazily, half atop him, both of them fully naked and glistening with satisfaction._

_“But we should go to the bed.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because if anyone walked in upon us…”_

_She grins. “The door is locked. I made sure of it after I came in.”_

_“Oh you wise splendid woman.”_

_She giggles, but then he gives a groan and so does she. Their bodies still slick, their limbs sometimes slide around the table’s edge and hit the wood with an uncomfortable pang as the blanket, during their exertions, has gone a bit askew in some areas._

_“Oh.”_

_“Ow.”_

_She snorts and he lets out a similar sound, lifting up with another groan._

_Decision made._

_“Alright, come on, bed’s only a few steps away.” He lifts her up and she grasps his arms for support._

_Their short travel is not without mishap though. Halfway between the table and the bed, he stumbles upon his boot and tangles into their bed’s curtains. They tumble messily to the floor, bodies smacking against each other and the stone._

_“Oh.”_

_“Ow.”_

_“Well that was in royal fashion.”_

_“Yep, royal clumsy fashion.”_

_They laugh so hard together before he gives it another go, grasping onto her waist as she holds tightly to his shoulders._

_This time they make it to the bed. Letting out happy little sighs, they snuggle within the covers together._

_“Mmm…this is so nice.” She whispers, stroking his warm damp chest._

_He holds her close. “Indeed.”_

_“But I’m hungry.”_

_He chuckles at that, admitting as his stomach gives a low rumble. “Me too.”_

_Arthur puts on his tunic and pants and runs down to the kitchen._

_…_

_When he comes back it is with some meats and fruits._

_“Oh yum!” She claps her hands in delight as he gleefully climbs back into bed with her, holding the tray of food._

_“Yeah…I had to sneak in. Head cook was in there and I swear the woman scares even me.”_

_Gwen giggles. “Oh you just have to know how to talk to her. Worked years with her in the kitchens. We get along well.”_

_“I bet you do.”_

_They enjoy the food and each other, giving playful kisses in between their exchange of feeding._

_Then, when most is done, they nuzzle back under the covers appreciatively._

_“I’m full.” Arthur pats his stomach happily._

_“So am I.” She presses joyfully into him. “I’m so full of everything being married to you.”_

_It’s a moment of sincerity. He kisses her brow. “Same my wife. But next time we sneak in and use the council table.”_

_She giggles. “I love how daring you can be.”_

_“Me…eh? The things you did with me on our chambers table here. You’re the daring one naughty Guinevere.”_

_“Oh you have plenty of naughty in you too.”_

_That night when they slumber it is just like that, an echo of fun, teasing and love. It’s them in every entirety. It’s them evermore._

Gwen sighs away the remembrance. She will once again this day keep busy with palace affairs. It keeps her far from idle, and guards her wanting heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the early dawn comes increased frailty. As the king travels further with his servant, his body barely obliges the burden of momentum. The pain twists and turns too deeply for him to register its end or commencing mark.

Thereupon, by fate, something alarming happens.

His sister is no more.

Arthur gasps. His stunned eyes watch her breath sucked out as his servant stabs her with that ancient sword of Camelot kings. Within that moment, something of himself is released in kind. Morgana has been the reason for disruption of peace lately, her mind so twisted with vengeance. It has saddened, angered and baffled him.

He spent a year of his life searching for her, loving her as a friend before he even knew she was his sibling. Something so horrible happened though somewhere in between, caused by his father, and more. Her once kind heart turned ruthless and mad.

Now it is over. Morgana Pendragon is dead.

Peace at last is conveyed within a tragic moment, furthermore making it possible.

He has been holding on for so long since the battle of Camlann, trying to keep breathing. Now, the threat to his kingdom, to those he loves, is no longer there. Now, for years married in noble rule, he knows as much as it may hurt her in heart, his wife will be ready to rule over the glorious Camelot. She is after all its rightful Queen, his primary choice as successor.

So Kingdom will be well. There is no more battle for the knights to fight. There is no sorceress to fear. There is peace, calm…and allowance.

The blade that struck him has been searching out its target and now has it entirely. It slowly cuts through his heart with its intent to end life. As it does, he feels the most foreign of emotion.

Mind you, it is not death itself that talons the king’s heart. Arthur has held the hands of many fallen knights, stayed with them in that moment when all they want, all they desire, is a human presence. He has known starkly those times that his own demise too would come one day; he has accepted that for years.

So casualty itself is not so frightening, rather the shivery journey to it.

Now he finally understands the way his fallen knights would search out desperately for his hand and hold it with cold icy fingers before succumbing to the light. He gets that now as mortality nudges his soul. It makes his body so bitterly cold, as if ice is hanging from his flesh.

It makes him tremble. It makes him covet warmth desperately.

Merlin wants to keep walking, holds on hard to him, but his legs tangle. They go down and that frigidness expedites deeper, those claws of mortality clinch his flesh. Merlin is so anxious. He won’t stop ranting.

Arthur simply requires warmth.

As the poisoned blade weaves a destructive path through his heart, he pleads with Merlin to hold him.

It is not dying that makes a man fearful once more. It is that bitterness that enters the bones and muscles, that makes the heat of love coveted fiercely.

And the truth is this. Arthur is loved by, and loves both. As Merlin holds him, in kind, Arthur’s last bits of heart traverse to chimera where his Guinevere is with him. His vision is dimming, hazily focused upon the skies above, the golden haze of shared chambers.

_~~“Guinevere…hold me…please…”_

_She reassures him._

_“I’m always with you Arthur…Always holding, protecting you.”~~_

Her arms surround as Merlin’s do too. Everything is so evident now, as much as his love for Guinevere has been from that very first kiss.

Merlin has been helping him, keeping him safe with his magic from the very beginning. He did it bravely, the crazy fool, knowing he was in a kingdom where the ruler in charge, his father then, could have burnt him at the stake any moment for it.

And yet Merlin held to his valor. Like his Guinevere so brave that time he told her to ride away from Cenred’s palace. Get far away. And yet did she? Of course not. She waited for him.

Two people who love him.

When did Heaven decide him so fortunate?

Merlin is ranting, raving. Poor idiot Merlin now really is scared. He’s giving good face, trying to keep him breathing.

Arthur’s eyes remain on the sky above. It has that faint beautiful golden glow of shared chambers.

His Guinevere. Oh his Guinevere. Love never truly found him until her. It never caressed him entirely until her. His mother was lost before he could ever even see her. His father was rough with affection, uncomfortable in it.

Guinevere has always given it to him. These past years of marriage have been his happiest. To share his bed with another, to share life with her, counsel and intimacy, is everything.

Oh the skies, oh the blue golden skies, that gleam evolving to chambers, to the hold of his wife.

_~~“Guinevere…”_

_“Arthur…I’m here.”_

_Her voice gently rents through. He’s held all around, kept warm, sweat stroked away._

_She is giving. Evermore.~~_

His heart is…weak. It’s fading. Like his vision. Like his feeling. All the embrace is keeping the cold away though. That’s all that matters.

Eternal Warmth.

Of friend.

Of wife.

Merlin is a mess of emotion. His hands fuss as he holds him tight. Arthur does his best to calm with his own hand. Merlin needs to relax. Merlin needs to hear. It’s all there now, every time his friend has used his magic to help, saving his wife, saving him, saving even his father, almost like a flash of brilliance, almost like a lightning of revelation. It has been there throughout this long journey that will not end with a healing…

but a passing.

He is not afraid. Arthur fears not, for he is held. He just wants Merlin to know his gratitude. He wants him to understand.

Summoning the strength to utter the words his eyes find that golden glow again, the hearth flaming gently, the bed upon which he lays and she embraces him. With her body, Guinevere is his scabbard. She shields him from every pain, every chill.

_~~“I love you…always…”_

_Her kisses are sweet glowing drops of rain upon his forehead and cheeks._

_“I love you too my dear Arthur…rest…”_

_“I will see you in the morning?”_

_Lips upon lips. Warm golden drops._

_“You will see me in the golden light…”~~_

It gives him the one last bit of zeal needed. Arthur’s hand lifts, cups the back of Merlin’s head as he quietly, honestly, whispers his thanks with his eyes upon his servant, forever gratitude in his voice, love of his friend.

Then they gaze upon the sky one more time, his heart at its very last beat.

In the blue sky is the golden glisten of chambers. Is the passing from one world to the next. Is the end of pain. The end of fear. The end of chill.

He is more blessed than ever, given love in ways of all.

_~~“Goodnight Guinevere…”_

_Her kisses, golden raindrops, all along his skin, making his body glisten with warmth. A Hallelujah of caress._

_“Goodnight my sweet husband…”_

_“In the morning?”_

_“In the golden light…”~~_

Merlin yells, screams. His eyes open for a moment, gaze upon his dear friend. Time is past though. That gaze cannot hold. It flutters away.

It flutters to golden chambers.

_~~“Love you…forever…always….Guin—e—vere…”_

_Her kisses caress his flesh. They sprinkle warm beauty upon him._

_“And I love you Arthur…will always shield you my dear husband…forever…evermore…”~~_

*Goodbye Merlin. Thank you. I trust you will get over the pain. You will check to my wife. I trust you, old friend. Goodbye.*

_~~Oh the chambers sparkle so gloriously now. Oh…she feels so…_

_Her touch…her kisses of golden light._

_“Evermore…”_

_It means to never end, not through death, not through distance. No passing of one existence to another can separate eternally. Her red and golden token, her gift is wrapped around his naked flesh, is his scabbard. She will always be with him. He will always be with her._

_*Always Guinevere. Never forget that my love. I will never part from you. I will always be with you in the golden light dear wife._

_Always my beautiful queen. Always._

_Forever._

_Evermore._

_Good night.*_

_“Guin---e---vere…_

_Ever---more…”~~_

*~~~~~~~*~

With that, with his servant weeping, with his wife in chimera of all his heart, the king breathes his last. He fades from the world of living for moment, for time of now.

In golden light…

Evermore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning is a slightly hazy one with intervals of sun. Early hours, it starts out busily.

Lady Eleanor, who has a young daughter of half past two years of age, needs someone to tend to her child while she marks her husband’s recent death with a private ceremony. He is sadly a casualty of Camlann.

Eleanor’s handmaiden is ill with a persistent cough and does not want to make the child sick too. There are of course others who could be watching her, but Gwen offers to do it herself, coveting a task to keep her busy and also relishing the company of a young one.

Now, after getting the girl, who is a burst of energy, to sleep in her arms for a morning’s nap, she recalls the last time the toddler was here, a happier time, when sweet Alena still had a father.

That day, events started to go awry quickly. Her husband was in their chambers at the moment also because he had hours’ time before a knighting ceremony.

_“It will just be for a few moments Arthur.”_

_He eyes her warily. “Moments?”_

_Gwen smiles comfortingly. This day is a busy one for the kingdom, what with a visiting duchess._

_It was at first expected that the duchess would arrive during afternoon hours._

_Well, unfortunately, according to the frantic Camelot guard, it is now understood she will be within the kingdom’s gates in a few precious moments. Seems the duchess is one who likes to be exceptionally early._

_Alena is at that very interesting age of the beginning two’s. Taking her down to meet the duchess doesn’t seem that great an idea to Gwen._

_“Tell me why again you won’t just let one of the servants watch her.”_

_Gwen shakes her head strongly. “Because Arthur, all of the servants have been preparing for the duchess’s visit and now are desperately rushing to get their tasks done. Meanwhile I’m going to do my best to ward her off._

_Look, if deemed more preferable, you could entertain her, the duchess that is, while I continue to watch Alena.”_

_Arthur makes a face. “Uh, no. The last time she came she drove my father and I crazy with all her demands, boring stories and lofty ways.”_

_“That’s what I thought you would say.” Gwen states with a busy smile. “Just this one favor my husband.”_

_Arthur’s eyebrows go up. “Oh now I’m your husband.”_

_Gwen shrugs. “You’re always my husband.”_

_She is playing with his hair, as his hands grasp her waist. “Yes, but when it’s something you desire that I’m probably not going to like much, it’s ‘my’ husband.”_

_“Oh Arthur.” Gwen gives him a gentle appeasing nose kiss, tapping his cheek afterward. “So you’ll do it?”_

_“Moments?”_

_“Moments Arthur. It really shouldn’t take longer than that. Alena probably won’t wake until I get back. Okay?”_

_Pressing his mouth to hers, he gives her a firmer kiss. “Alright. Should be harmless then.”_

_…_

_Things have a way of falling by the wayside at the most inopportune times. What is supposed to be moments, turns into an hour. During that time little cute Alena wakes up, deciding that Arthur’s many tools of arsenal, which are all laid out on the table for the knighting ceremony, are quite interesting. Especially his sword._

_Finally getting a reprieve, Gwen starts to enters hers and Arthur’s chambers with Eleanor when they hear the interesting bits of Arthur’s first child-sitting experience._

_“swooood…mine.”_

_“No, not yours. Mine.”_

_Alena doesn’t like that negative response._

_“Mmmmgggtrr…”_

_“Oh oh oh…alright!” Arthur lets the little girl touch the pommel, keeping her fussy hands away from the rest of the dangerous object. Eleanor starts to rush to intervene, not wanting her child to be bothering the king or get hurt, but Gwen holds back the noble woman’s arm. “Wait. Let’s see what happens next.”_

_Alena is not happy with just the handle. She wants to touch more of the sword. In fact she wants to touch all the other shiny things on the table too. It takes some strenuous effort, but Arthur gets Alena’s mind off the things on the table eventually._

_Problem now?_

_Her new toy that she finds quite interesting is his hair. It is so fascinating in fact that she starts yanking the fine strands with her tiny determined fingers._

_“Ow. Now you don’t want to pull people’s hair.”_

_“Pulllllll!”_

_“Ah-no---OWW! You have a grip stronger than a knight’s---AW—ow!”_

_Gwen is finding it hard not to have a giggle fit._

_Eleanor whispers, “We should put him out of his misery.”_

_Gwen shakes her head. “Wait.”_

_It seems Arthur has an idea to prevent the toddler from pulling all his hair out. He sits little Alena down on the chair and lowers himself to all fours._

_“Alright, climb on.”_

_“Horsey!”_

_He nods his head vigorously. “Yeah…horsey!”_

_Gwen smacks her hand against her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter as Arthur literally starts riding around their chambers, neighing here and giving a whinny there. It’s obvious Alena is thoroughly enjoying it, an excited shine to her face as she pulls hard on the horsey’s reigns…unfortunately for Arthur, once again his hair. He grins and bears it the best he can though, letting out the random ‘ouch!’_

_Then he starts to tell her amusingly about his time being a donkey and how he quite likes being a horsey better than a donkey._

_“A goblin, ugly little creature, got in the castle and acted terribly!”_

_“Gobbbbblin!”_

_“Yes!”_

_“Made me a donkey, but it’s much better being a horsey!”_

_“Horsey better than donkey!”_

_“Yes yes!”_

_“Horsey naaaayyy!”_

_“You want me to neigh more?”_

_“Yes, horsey naaaaay!”_

_Arthur gives a grumble. Neighing gets quite annoying after a while, but Alena is insistent and so…_

_“Brrroooa…naaaaaaaayyyy!”_

_This time Gwen loses it, laughing so hard, she nearly falls over._

_Eleanor tries to smile politely, but it is over for her too._

_Arthur cocks his head to the side, just like a horse would, in surprise. Alena jumps off of him excitedly, Arthur’s hands helping her safely get down._

_She runs to her mother and exclaims, gesturing toward Arthur. “Mama…hooorsey!”_

_Gwen makes her way to him, laughing. Standing, with a touch of indignation, Arthur latches onto his wife’s waist. “So you thought that was funny, eh?”_

_“Very.”_

_He rolls his eyes, mocking her earlier pledge. “*Moments*. More like hours, Guinevere.”_

_She calmly corrects him. “One hour. And I’m sorry. The Duchess just wouldn’t let up.”_

_He sighs. “Yeah, I know how that is. Last time she came she drove every servant Camelot has batty.”_

_Gwen’s listening to him, trying to anyways, but she can’t help notice it._

_Reaching upward, she pats down his ‘horsey’ hair, which is a-twist and a-tangle from one direction to another._

_Eleanor thanks Arthur and Gwen, set to leave them to some peace and quiet, but before she makes it to the door, little Alena runs back to the king._

_“Play horseeeey…aggggan?” She asks._

_He squats down with a grin. “Yeah…another day.”_

_Her little hands reach out and hug him. Giving a happy blush, Arthur hugs her back._

_…_

_When they’re gone, Gwen’s hands gather around Arthur’s waist. “I want to play horsey sometime too.”_

_He grins. “Okay.”_

_“Mmm…” She lets go and wanders away, but then he’s latching on, swinging her up into his arms and stating boldly, “Right now sounds good!”_

_“Arthur…the knighting ceremony!” She half giggles and warns as he drops her upon the bed and crawls onto it to friskily join her._

_“Oh, we have an hour. Plenty of moments to play…hooooorsey!”_

_“You crazy man…you!” She laughs and then…_

_…rides…_

The memory of what happened after makes her flush with feeling for a fast moment; it was quite amorous.

It is the sweetness of how he was with Alena though that makes her smile with lasting fondness as right now her emotions are delved in the sentimental.

It’s that fun and lively remembrance of Arthur riding around the room, neighing crazily, while little Alena pulls on his ‘reigns’ to get him to go even faster that fills her. Gazing down at the sleeping little girl in her arms, she kisses her forehead and recalls it further.

Riding here…riding there…from one side to another…

She can visualize him, silly, adorable, on all fours, giving a neigh and squinting as Alena’s hands sometimes held his hair too hard. Galloping on his knees from one part of their chambers to anoth-

The picture etiolates and fades. It oddly starts to float out of her head. Out of her heart. Out of the room.

Out of…

Gwen gets this hollow feeling. It ascends through her stomach, into her heart. It holds there. It clutches. Coldly. Bitterly.

“No…” She whispers, her lips trembling.

There is no declaration spoken in words or any strong vision of prediction. There is no deep pain in her body, any paralyzing anguish. There is no cry of horror from her mouth.

However, maybe there need not be, for ever so quietly, so gravely, she simply feels it.

Something is different.

Something is not there anymore.

There is just this hole, this gaping hole that brings the tears to her eyes.

“No.” She whispers, as thin as a shallow breeze.

_“No. Please. No.”_

The little girl murmurs in her sleep and so Gwen holds her more securely, her face pressing into the sweet scented hair.

…

When it is time for Alena to go, her noble friend asks if she is alright. Gwen nods, best she can with her husband still missing.

But it is a lie.

The door closes and Gwen’s back presses against it. She scans the room, coveting to see the vision of him, of his playing horsey, his fun side, his charming silly one.

There is the amorous facet of passionate culmination, their constitutions naked and satiated by love.

There is the warm endeavor of lying together in bed, arms embracing each.

Watching him change behind the screen with a wife’s appreciative smile…

Sharing the waters of a hot luxurious bath, scrubbing each other’s bodies intimately…

Moment to moment…

Marital, private ones…

So many chambers moments.

Precious always in constitution. In heart.

_Evermore._

They find no sight now. Each time she tries to envision a moment, the image seems to fade before it can fill her anxious eyes.

She pushes her hand strongly against her heart, but nothing has changed from the moment his ‘horsey’ image etiolated.

Something, something she cannot describe, cannot tell with sense of mind, with any firmness of belief… _something is gone_.

“Arthur let me be wrong…let me please…”

She sinks down to the floor, clutching her heart with trembling fingers.

With the ugly continuance of fading images.

…

The night is a long one of her clasping to his pillow and slipping his white tunic over her chilled body. In a few fingers is held fast the Royal Seal. She pleads for it to be returned to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days pass. One to two. Her heart is still fervently holding on. Holes poke through the remembrances. Each time her eyes see him, the picture dulls to murky ponds of near extinction of thought.

Nearly not there. Nearly there enough to contain ache of hope.

It gnaws at her, this intrepid uneasiness. She holds his seal with anxious fingers, standing at his bedside in the early morning hours. She touches his things, his comb, his medallion that he wears upon his cloak for ceremonial occasion.

The waiting crawls up her skin, inches through her flesh, making her hope, making her wonder, making her cycles away from a scream. It does not pause, it does not give consolation, the weak passing of time.

This day she hears something of interest though.

Turning away from her husband’s things she hears it again, firm knocking at the door. Gwen moves away from the bed furniture, gazes down at her state of dress for a second. Changed into her lavender gown she is in appropriate wear. Unclasping the lock and opening the door further she sees his tall strong stature.

“Percival.”

There is sweat in his face from riding for days it looks like, dirt upon his clothing, lack of luster to his chainmail, horrid redness upon his wrists, and a flat line to his lips. “My Lady.” He whispers.

She looks beyond him and back to his raw wrists. “Are you alright? Where is Gwaine? I thought he went with you. That was what Gaius told me, that you two left during Eira’s hanging.”

He nods slowly. “I’m okay…and we did.”

“You wanted to find Morgana, yes?”

“Yeah.” Percival states, the words being dragged out slowly, hesitantly.

“And did you find her?”

It’s that slow nod again. “We did. I got her with my sword, but I guess it wasn’t enough, a sorceress like her. She imprisoned us, tortured Gwaine to find out where Merlin and Arthur were heading.”

Gwen’s eyes widen with shock. “Did she find out?”

“Gwaine’s dead.” Percival states dully.

Gwen’s stomach gives a raw uncomfortable tickle, and yet her heart still is seeking something else. “Oh no. I wish you two hadn’t left. Going against her alone, you had such little chance.”

Percival shakes his head hard, always the gentle giant knight with the shiniest disposition, he is now a face of graven anger and sadness. “We had to. She murdered so many of ours. Gwaine had to. He was one of the best knights ever, like Elyan and…”

Percival’s voice drifts off, full of pain that collides with a barely tempered fury. Gwen moves forward, clutching at his arm, pressing her hand gently into it. “You are right. Gwaine was very brave and I know he meant well always. He will be missed so much, just like Elyan, just like…”

Her voice drifts off as she needs to know more. “Did you come back right after? I have to ask since you’ve been gone for about two days. Did it take you long to find Morgana?”

Percival looks down at the floor, his focus descended there like every bit of stone, crack and line, bump and color, are an entirety of interest. Gwen presses against his arm again. “Percival.”

Slowly they travel back up, his blue eyes filled with something beyond the anger and pain.

“What else happened?” Gwen asks tightly.

It seems wrong to him that he be the one to tell her this. Percival remembers a time when he had so many brothers in arms, when he was new and yet they accepted him into Camelot with excitement.

Then Lancelot was gone, Elyan afterward, and now Gwaine…

_And…_

He didn’t call himself Prince Arthur then like he could.

Just…Arthur.

Knighting him within hours of knowing him. Trusting him already so fast. So faithfully.

So many alive. So many brothers. And now so many de-

_“Percival.”_

Gwen cuts through his deep reverie, seeing something in his face that talons at her heart.

“Morgana is dead now too. I found her corpse near the island of Avalon.”

It is like her stomach drops. Gwen holds onto her breast, getting Percival to move closer, but she lifts her hand, a slight brush away. “By who?”

The sorrowed and weary knight shakes his head. The lightness that has always been him is now not so gentle and sweet as before. These days and especially this battle have changed him forever. Oh he will not go down roads of fury and vengeance, but he is also not so young anymore, not so green to the ugliness of death.

“I don’t know for sure. I’m supposing Merlin or…maybe even Arthur.”

Gwen’s hand entrenches her heart as she asks shakily, hopefully, “Arthur did you see you him? Where is he?”

There is no drip of hope though in Percival’s face as he recalls, as he reaches out for his queen’s hand. “My Lady…”

It is dread. Just icy cold dread that starts weaving a bitter path through her body now. “Where IS he Percival? Where is my husband?”

Husband. King. Friend. He didn’t have to knight him years ago. He could have held back. He could have told him he was not noble, but that was never Arthur Pendragon.

That was never…

He feels Gwen’s hand leave his with a fast fury. Percival tries to look away, but her eyes are hard on his and so he has to look back. Has to see her tiny little string of longing.

“When I got to the island, to its edge, I saw nothing at first and then…”

He stops. Shakes a little.

Gwen grasps his hand hard. “Saw what, Percival?”

He looks down to her needing eyes. So beautiful like her, their queen. Arthur has always called her that, beautiful, in moments of pride and happiness to be married and so in love. Arthur has displayed her beauty to everyone often by giving her a turn on the dance floor so all can see.

They are each others. They are a unit. They are Camelot’s King and-

“What…Percival?” She asks insistently, but it is all there in the tear that starts to fall from his eye. It is all in the dread filling her body and sucking at her heart.

_“What?”_ She asks brokenly.

He shakes his head, wishing this was some evil nightmare.

But sadly it is not.

This is how it ends.

“A boat.”

“Oh…” Gwen’s hand clutches her mouth sickeningly. She has seen a boat before upon the Lake of Avalon. She knows its meaning.

“With Merlin in it too?” She asks though hopefully, maybe the possibility that Merlin was taking Arthur to be saved. To be-

“No.” Percival states softly. “Arthur was in it alone. On his back. Eyes—c-closed. He was d-dead Gwen.”

It clenches her heart and stomach all at once making her let out a moan that stretches from the core to the crest. From her lungs to her mouth.

_“Oooohhh…”_

She nearly stumbles forward, but for Percival’s hands deftly reaching out and keeping her steady against his strong chest.

_“OH…no, no, no no…NO…”_

She cries, a shriek of agony that smashes away the last bit of hope.

She is not aware of much more as Percival does his best to keep her in his hold, to keep her from falling as her legs lose their rhythm, her feet no longer supply the base, and her stomach roils with pain.

This feels so wrong. It shouldn’t even be him doing this, he thinks. It should have been her brother or even Lancelot. But now they’re all gone, Gwaine too, her husband. She is alone and in pain. He is the one left, once new, now the old.

He hears it, her repeated moans of anguish, of loss and helps her, keeping his hand tightly around her waist as he guides her to the bed so she can sit down upon it. And then he backs away just a bit, hearing the terrible sound of her grief.

_“Oh no…Arthur, Arthur…oh my Arthur, no, no…oh please no…”_

Gwen does not feel as one of his hands stays anxiously at her side. She does not see him standing in front of her, his face lined with so many miseries. She only feels the hollow stab of her body as now Arthur is with certainty separated from her.

Is gone from her world.

…

She is given a tonic for sleep shortly afterward. Council members want to know what is going on and other things about the kingdom, but Gaius and Percival tell them to go away, that they will learn more later. With the tonic Gwen does find sleep, but there are bits of the night where she awakens, seeks out his presence and then remembers.

And then cries.

And moans.

Not wanting to believe it. Not wanting to accept it.

Her father. Her brother.

And now…

Her Arthur.

Her heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We cannot go on like this.”

“Yes, she has to do something!”

“An announcement must be made!”

“Tell her-

Gwen enters the council room, seeing the wild disarray of its members. Wearing her red royal gown she stops in the middle as their conversation ceases. In her fingers is the Royal Seal.

Leon moves to her side, frowning at the bickering council members and then eyeing her softly. “I’m sorry My Lady. They are just-

She brings her hand up, her face one of sorrow fill. “Concerned about the kingdom. Yes, I know.”

She directs her attention to the council members. “Your impatience is troubling as you should know I regard this kingdom no less than my husband did. Now it will never be the same without King Arthur. Never fully the same. But I will not let it fall into shambles either. So the announcement will be made today.”

…

As it is.

Gwen, holding Arthur’s Royal Seal, now hers to use for command, signals to Leon and he makes the announcement. She eyes Percival at the front, who echoes the call to serve her. He is full of despondence as is she.

…

Another night comes and another day with a bird as a messenger. It leaves a note for her that she reads within chambers. Gwen scans those chambers with a sad opaqueness to her eyes. It has been there since Arthur’s death, since her agonized moans turned to nothing more than royal purpose and squash on feeling.

It is like her body still moves, but her emotion is deceased.

It died with him.

Sitting down upon the long bench seat of lavender near the window, Gwen unfolds the note and begins to read.

_‘Gwen,_

_I am sorry. Please forgive me. I tried._

_I failed._

_I couldn’t get him there in time._

_I couldn’t save Arthur.’_

“Oh.” She sighs brokenly.

Merlin’s words are full of pain and self incrimination and the usual would be for her to have sympathetic emotion for his misery. For she is sure he is in his own personal purgatory right now. She is finding it hard enough to understand her own feelings now though, let alone Merlin’s. Grief has so many stages, ones she’s sadly acquainted with, but this time there is a stark difference.

The loss of Arthur feels like the loss of a piece of her body. Even that day while watching Alena she felt his presence leave her world. And now days later she succumbs herself into her work. She pushes herself to continue Arthur’s rule with purpose and authority because that is the only way it seems to spend moments and hours without dissolving into tears or wanting to throw something against the wall in hope of ending it.

The endless drone of this new life. This sad half existence. She wants no part of it. Gwen has never held to pride or greed. And she wants none of that now. Always her life has been one of peace and order, but all that feels tampered with now. All that is ajar and skewed. Her heart is a hollow piece and her mind is out of order.

She is living by monotony, by what is ordained, but not anymore by the wonder of circumstance or the happy element of surprise.

She shakes her head away from her reverie and goes back to reading.

_‘I need to tell you more. I have magic, Gwen. I always have. I was born with it. I have used it just to protect Arthur-those he loves. I swear. I’ve only wanted to serve him and now that is gone, I just, I can’t go back to Camelot. That’s why I’m sending this by messenger. I feel—ashamed. I should have done more. I wish I could have._

_In the end Arthur knew of my magic and he accepted it. He…Gwen he was my friend. Like you are. I hope you still are._

_I’m sorry once more. Maybe one day you and I will talk again, but for the moment I must stay away. I need to do something…I need to serve my purpose._

_You were my first friend in Camelot, Gwen, and I love you, my friend. I will always._

_Goodbye…_

_For now._

_Merlin Emrys’_

He uses that second part of his name that Gaius has told her is large in history and of great importance to the Druid people. Well then why did they not help her husband? Why did Merlin not seek assistance from them?

Why? Why?

So many why’s. So many questions that are brutal and less fair than keeping a mouth shut. But she wants to know. She wants to delve into the bitter to ward off the pain of the night.

Oh the night.

…

Soon, after a day of toiling, working with the council, helping Leon setting up the patrol, and eating a few bites of supper here and there, her stomach not able to take much more, evening is there, the moon bright, and sleep fills most of the castle.

Apart from the tending guardsmen, apart from Camelot’s Queen.

She lies within the blankets, holding onto his pillow like she has since he had gone missing, and quietly whimpers into it.

Her body had grown so used to even after long treks, his being back, his arms surrounding her waist, stomach, gently rubbing her nipple, caressing her breast, fingering between her thighs intimately, his lips against her cheek, her neck and face. It had grown used to the fine hairs upon his chest, the hardness of his muscle, the way his feet pushed against her ankles sometimes because they grew cold in the middle of the night, or the way he would grasp the covers so tightly to himself and she would have to nudge them away from his greedy big fingers.

That snore that would start out softly and sometimes rise in timbre too much that she’d bring her finger across his nose, nudging it, and feel him make a throaty sound, feel his body shift, so that his snoring stopped…for long moments before it found its way to start again. And she groaned with exasperation.

Some nights would be so cold that they’d scurry under the covers together like two crazy rabbits. Other nights, so warm, they’d just lightly hold each other and grimace at their discomforts.

Some nights romantic. Others weary. Some passionate. Some of conversation.

_And now all that is gone._

Gwen thinks of them, those precious nights, and feels the tightness in her breath, the bulk of pain form in her throat and the tears well in her eyes before they fall to the pair of pillows like a shower of rain.

“Arthur…I never wanted this. I never wanted Camelot without you. I never…”

The night is the most dreaded because it is the loneliest. The storm of emotion no longer has a protocol fence to lock it in. The hollow pain is the deepest and the cold is the most bitter. Or the sweating heat too ugly hot.

It is when she lays for hours until her eyes can take no more of the brutal punishment of insomnia.

But when they close, the dreams come on, and sometimes the chimera of feeling is too much to find any true slumber.

…

Another night. Another unwanted dream. She pushes against his pillow, her tears falling again.

And feels it. A touch. A touch so soft. So softly familiar.

A hush.

_Shhh…don’t cry_

She stirs.

No.

_I’ll never leave you. I promise that._

Gwen’s eyes open starkly. She whispers, “Arthur?”

_I’m here Guinevere. I always will be. Evermore..._

_Never…leave…_

_Evermore…_

She sits up in the bed, her breath fast as she grasps her breast. “Arthur? Arthur!”

There is nothing there. No one there.

And yet…

She felt something upon her shoulder. _She did_. She knows she did. She heard a voice.

“Arthur?”

She questions one last time, but there is nothing, no one.

Then a peculiar sound. A crackle.

She turns her head to the hearth, sees a soft golden flame. It shines so beautifully. So gorgeously. So resplendent. Like it will never go out.

Like it will burn evermore.

Evermore?

And then it’s gone. The room is practically cold.

“Ar-thur?” She questions brokenly, her face a mess of wetness, her body shivers of confusion and pain.

She lies back down upon the bed, a tangle of tremors and loss. Her hand moves over her heart and stomach, between her thighs wretchedly, with the most utter loneliness.

She has to cry herself to sleep. To finally allow her eyes their needing of reprieve.

So deep into it she doesn’t feel it when it comes again.

Ethereal. Bodiless.

The touch upon her shoulder.

The soft gentle whisper.

_Never_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She consumes herself so deep into the work of keeping kingdom and lays with little sleep in the night that she doesn’t even feel it, that all her dying sense is combined with something else. It is only one day when sitting upon the throne for hours meeting with one person after another and it is time to finally stand, she stumbles and falls to the floor.

In a rushed mess of movement from all surrounding she is carried to her chambers, and receives Gaius’s care.

Exhaustion has fallen upon her body. She cannot keep this up for the reason of her own well being. And for another reason as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days turn to weeks to months. She recovers from her fall and is allowed to return to duties of kingdom.

A knock comes at hers and Arthur’s chambers door during the morning hours.

Gwen has long moved past that time when she would hope and wonder for Arthur’s presence. She has dully accepted her husband’s demise and now goes to open the door, staring in wonder at who is there.

“Merlin?”

He is not entirely recognizable. Unshaven. He has barely combed hair that is already growing longer, and a face that is partially dirtied.

“Hello Gwen.”

She lets him in slowly, closing the door behind him and staring.

For long moments he seems like someone she no longer knows, but then the sheepishness kicks in, the humility strong. “I’m sorry.”

Emotions tear through her as she shakes her head. “What happened?”

He looks up, eyes a pool of misery and anguish and Gwen has to back to the wall some to get away from it. There is something wild in Merlin now. Something she no longer knows. Along with all that familiarity is an ocean of newness. “You have magic. Wasn’t there a way you could have gotten him there faster?” The words sound cruel even to her own ears, but she has to ask them.

Merlin pushes his hand against his forehead. His knuckles are cracked with lines of redness. “I swear I tried. I never wanted to leave his side in the first place, but Morgana took away my magic before Camlann. Then she locked me into a cave. I managed to get out and I got my magic back, I stopped Aithusa: the dragon, and I ceased the efforts of many from her army, but I couldn’t get to Arthur in time. Mordred had already-

“Oh.” Her hand pushes against her mouth as Merlin echoes that it was Mordred.

Before he can continue a piece of paper is thrust into his hand. “This…did you know about it?”

Merlin looks down upon the familiar Druid prayer and then raises his head, his eyes glancing at Gwen’s heavily, before he looks away. “The Druid prayer. Yeah I knew.”

She turns away from him, gazing out the window, before facing him again in a rush of fury. Her eyes ponder his without mercy. They look far and deep before she whispers it. “You knew it was Mordred. Didn’t you?”

Every day he goes through the horrible list of failures. He begs it all to be just a nightmare and everything to start over. “I knew.”

The tears are there again, never there in the day, but now with Merlin they return as she nearly screams out, her peace in shatters. “Then why didn’t you do anything Merlin? Why did you let Arthur bring him back here? Why did you let him live here, leave here, knowing that he---oh my God…” She pants and Merlin feels his tears hot and heavy.

“What was I supposed to do, Gwen? He wouldn’t have listened to me. He would have wanted to know how I knew and then I would have had to-

She looks up at him, seeing the fear and pain, but hers is sharp too. “What, tell him that you were a sorcerer, when you were one? Tell him the truth? You don’t think he deserved that after all the faith he put in you?”

“Gwen…” Merlin is brokenly crying now. “I loved him…Arthur was my friend. I love you. You’re my friend. I didn’t mean-I-I’m sorry—I—I failed…I tried but I failed.”

His breakdown stops her mind from ranting and pierces her heart.

_Oh Merlin_ , she thinks.

He came to Camelot with magic outlawed and had to be so scared. But he stayed because he started serving Arthur, and she saw it, how he started liking Arthur. A liking that grew to the kind of love brothers share. He put up with Arthur’s bullish ways at time, countered it with his own smartness and they had that silly bickering going on between them, but also so much loyalty, so much care. All these years Merlin was a sorcerer and he never required any reward for it. He did it in the shadows. He did it with cost to himself.

He didn’t save Arthur. Her husband is gone. But in his crying eyes, in the dirt of his face, is the veracity that he tried.

She moves toward the broken man and lifts her shaking hand to his cheek. “Merlin.”

He loses it all once more, his head falling. “I’m sorry Gwen. I’m so sorry.”

She begins to hold him and feels his hands hold her even tighter, needing her presence. Maybe needing any presence. There is no telling if he has been with anyone since.

“I know. I know.”

Merlin holds her like that for a long while, before breaking away, touching his friend’s face. “Gaius said you got sick.”

“My emotions. Not eating enough.”

Merlin frowns. Her face is flushed, but to hear she’s needed bed rest troubles him greatly. “Gwen, you can’t let that happen. You have to be well. Arthur would want it. He loved you so much. A few times in the middle of the night, he didn’t know I heard. But he’d call out your name. He’d keep saying it and I’d calm him down, get him back to sleep, but you were in his heart.”

He presses his hand against his chest, against his tattered scarf. “You were there with him.”

“Oh…” Gwen cries a little more at that, but then thinks of the words. There with him.

_Never leave._

“Was he in pain?” She asks, hoping not.

Merlin shakes his head, a quiet reassurance. “Not so much at the end. He went peacefully, Gwen.”

She nods, feeling his roughened fingers gently touch her face, and then…

“I should go.” Merlin starts parting from her.

She looks at him quizzically. “You’re not staying?”

“No. I had to come back to see you, to see Gaius one more time, but…no.”

“Merlin.”

“I’ve caused enough pain. I--I want to be alone.”

She reaches out, grasps his hand. “Not just pain. And not alone. I’ve been alone for a while and it hurts and…Merlin not alone.”

“Gwen.”

She smiles just a little. “It was many nights ago, a month or two maybe when I felt this presence. I felt like he was here. Arthur. And I felt him whispering what he told me weeks before he died, that he would never leave me. I don’t know if I was just imagining or what, but I could feel him. I could…”

Merlin stares at her, and then even harder as she clutches his hand tighter, brings it to her stomach. “Can you…feel him? Feel…”

Merlin’s face fills with shock, his hand actually beginning to glow.

Gwen’s eyes widen at the magical wonder in them, and then their direction ascends as the glow goes away quickly.

“Sorry.” He looks so remorseful.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s alright. It felt warm.”

Merlin smiles mildly. “Yeah…I don’t do it to hurt.”

She touches his hand that is shyly away from her body now. “I know. When Morgana turned me into a deer, you healed me, didn’t you?”

Merlin nods his head slowly. “Yeah. I had to. You would have di-

She stops him, pressing her hand against his arm. “Merlin?”

He gazes down upon her stomach, back to her shining eyes. “You’re with child.”

Gwen smiles. “True to his promise. ‘Never leave me.’”

“That’s also why you’ve been resting. Are you alright?”

Gwen nods. “I’m fine. Truly Merlin I didn’t have much desire to eat, to enjoy, but now…” She touches her stomach gently, “Knowing that there is this one inside me, this little one that is a beautiful facet of Arthur, I care more to be well. I have another to think of.” Her smile is soft, sprinkled with hope.

Merlin smiles too, faintly telling her, “I’m so happy then for you Gwen. You deserve to have joy in your life.”

He thinks about how there will be another piece of Arthur in this world, before that day he is supposedly destined to come back.

Many would think him a freak, an idiot for believing, for holding onto the hope that Arthur will actually return someday. But Merlin needs that deep in his soul. He has realized that with the absence of Arthur, he misses the teasing, the badgering, the hits upon his shoulder that are meant to be awkward little hugs. He misses him so much. Misses…

“Merlin. You deserve it too. Joy.”

Gwen’s hand is there, warm on his cheek. Merlin tries to push away from it, but she holds fast. “I know, no matter what I said before, that you did everything you could to keep him alive. To bring him back to Camelot. _Merlin, I know_. I know you loved him like all of Camelot has. Like I have. I know he was your greatest friend, that you served him the best anyone could.

Merlin, do not go.”

“Gwen-

She shushes him, her hand inches from his mouth before he stops and she lowers her wrist. “Gaius misses you. I do. The knights. No one puts you to blame. We all know you tried.”

He thinks about the isle, his voice shuddering. “I-I can’t Gwen. I can’t stay.”

“Why?” She asks so plaintively.

He looks away from her, to the window, where past the mountains it lies. “I have to keep going there. I have to keep-

“Where, Merlin?” Gwen asks.

She wouldn’t understand. No one probably would. He practically considers himself a madman. Crazy man of the wood.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No.”

Gwen’s brow wrinkles, but with a sigh she relents. “Alright. Then one night. Gaius is so happy to have you back. We can dine, all of us together. One more time. Merlin?”

His mind tells him to say no, but his heart…

“Okay. One more time.”

She kisses his cheek and leads him out of the chambers that for so many years, he served his friend in, that for a few precious years, she shared with her eternal love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night they eat together, the closest of them, Leon, Percival, Merlin, Gwen and Gaius. Sad moments are inevitable, memories of all they have lost, but within too are intermingled happier ones and jokes and cute little foresights into what the new little Pendragon may be like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen recalls it all two days later, after a trip she took with Merlin, that he hadn’t totally been prepared for. Rubbing her stomach gently now in her nightdress, her hair braided and ready for sleep, she recalls…

_“Merlin.”_

_He stares at her as she walks out of the stables with her horse. “Gwen?”_

_“I’m going with you. Leon has charge of the kingdom for the days and nights needed.”_

_“But-_

_Gwen fixes her gloves into place, like she did when she rode with Arthur to Camlann. “Gaius has said it’s alright too. The air will do me good after getting the rest I needed. I’ve been eating well enough. Now I just need one thing.”_

_“What?” Merlin asks._

_She reaches out, touches his hand. “To be with Arthur. One last time.”_

_“But-_

_“Merlin…take me there. Please. Take me to the Lake of Avalon.”_

_“Gwen-_

_She brings Merlin’s hand down with hers to her stomach, whispering. “I want him to feel his child. I want our child…to feel his…or her… father. Merlin…please take me.”_

_He protests and all the while she holds steadfast, like she always has. Calmly she watches his argument deflate. He gives a faint nod, telling her, as he squeezes her hand softly, “Okay.”_

_…_

_The ride takes a few days, but it is peaceful enough. At one time they have a bandit encounter. Gwen marvels as for the first time she sees the strength of Merlin’s magic while he is Merlin, not dressed as an old man. There is no death. Merlin does not seek to kill the bandits, just frighten them away, but there is steeliness in his eyes as he does so._

_“You have great power, don’t you Merlin?”_

_He nods a little shyly._

_“Arthur saw it?”_

_Merlin gives a shrug. “He saw some. Enough to get it.”_

_“And the name, Emrys?”_

_“The Druids call me that. I’ve been told I have more than one name, that I am of the elements, but that’s not important Gwen to you now. What matters is that you get to Avalon and so I will keep my promise to take you there.”_

_She smiles faintly as once more Merlin is still quite cryptic._

_…_

_The day that they reach Avalon is a lovely one, with the sun shining gently through the sky, causing glimmers of color that the wan clouds have little power over. Merlin stands back as Gwen, clad in her riding outfit, makes her way to the water, holding wildflowers in her hands, and something else. She deposits the wildflowers into the lake before speaking softly._

_“Arthur…” There are probably so many inspiring things to say, but one comes to heart continuously. “I miss you. I miss the love you gave to me, that you gave to your kingdom and to your men. I miss your bravery, your good heart, and the chivalry you showed me and so many others._

_Confession, I wanted to beg you not to go to Camlann. I followed you because I couldn’t endure sitting…waiting. You gave yourself fully always. I had to do the same. And I will never regret it, sharing that one last beautiful time with you. Being in the arms of love, yours.”_

_She sighs somberly, tears finding her eyes. “I know that if I had tried to stop you from serving your purpose, from fighting for Camelot, I would have taken a most vital part of you. Oh Arthur, as much as I coveted keeping you safe, I knew from the moment I fell in love with you, that would never be easy. You were born to be king, to be the greatest king Camelot has ever known. I believe that. Even if it was cut short…I believe it.”_

_She smiles fondly with a touch of amusement, which makes the tears even more prevalent actually. “You weren’t all perfect, and I would have you no other way. You had a penchant for snoring like a pig and a pout that could compete with a baby’s. Until now perhaps. I may have some competition for you soon.”_

_She caresses her stomach fondly, the fingers of her other hand feeling the gentle waters of the lake. “You see my husband you gave me the most precious gift you ever could. But you know that, you must Arthur. Our passion and love for each other was never a feeble thing. We enjoyed our time together, embraced it, shielded it. And so that beautiful scabbard of your love has created within me something alive and so dear I could never imagine before.”_

_She gazes upon the lake, the gentle waters, wishing her eyes could literally touch its depths, wishing she could pull him out and begin life anew together. Whether he be farmer. Whether he be king. It would not matter. Her love for kingdom has always been as full of veracity as his, but never could anything eclipse her love for him, the naked beautiful man he always was inside, that piece that he cared to share only with a few._

_The private essence that only she and she alone knew. Her hand presses to her heart, presses deep and solid as she wishes for one more reprieve. One clause to the other world. For she can’t imagine she will ever love anyone the same. She can’t imagine that the hollowness that is in her heart, will ever entirely be fulfilled again._

_However, she can’t give in. Can’t give up. Can’t thrust away the beautiful years they had together. Can’t tarnish them._

_Her hand caresses her stomach, soon enough to be round, to be blushing with fulfillment. To think that their passions, their intimate touches, his entering the private walls of her womanhood have led to this._

_*Life._

_It’s why as much as there is a part of her that wants to run away from this new half existence, she does not allow it to dictate her way. She knew years ago her husband would likely go early in life. Oh she had the hope they would spend olden days together, but she has always been wise enough to understand the kind of man he was, that the most honorable way of dying for him would be in the company of his men, during a fight for the most vital justices._

_“As much as I miss you my husband..” She clutches her breast, “And I miss you with all my heart Arthur, every bit…I am so happy too. For I have a facet of your life inside me now. I have a wee one to come who I will protect and shield…as fervently as I shielded you. As you shielded me._

_My heart Arthur…” She presses her hand to it fervently. “My heart…evermore. Will never leave you._

_Never.”_

_She brings it out from the cloth it’s wrapped in, the belted tie from possibly his favorite dress. The blue one. She whispers, “You gave me the most thrilling reactions when I wore the dress that went with this belt. And now I won’t need it anymore. So here…for you…”_

_She drops the gold and blue belt into the water. Not every memory will be locked away. She has not put serious thought to putting away his clothes or endeavored to get rid of them. Also, she will keep the nightdress because it was his gift to her and she will keep her other dresses too. Just this one with all its fervent memories of his hands slipping over her breast, his fingers knotting into the belt and molding to her hips, this one she cannot bring herself to hold onto. This one she wants him to have a piece of too. So let it lie in the lake with him._

_“For you my husband…” Her voice quietly whispers._

_“For you…My Love.”_

_…_

_Moments later Merlin comes to join her. He sits at her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She rests her head on his. “Thank you.”_

_Merlin nods, noticing her path of tears, his own face a little wet. “I think there’s something else I should tell you.”_

_Gwen starts to lift her head, but Merlin’s hold grows tighter. He doesn’t want her to look at him yet. She keenly stays still._

_“Years ago, when the black knight came to Camelot, do you remember that Gwen?”_

_“Yes. Arthur was to fight him.”_

_“I came to you and asked if I could have one of the swords your dad forged.”_

_Gwen’s brow tightens. “I remember that.”_

_“It was forged further actually. In a dragon’s breath. It was the one Arthur used to fight in Camlann.”_

_Now Merlin finally allows it and so Gwen lifts her head. “The one you asked me for? But Arthur said-_

_Merlin smiles fractionally. “I lied to him then. I had to. Arthur needed to believe in himself and I couldn’t tell him how the sword was created.”_

_“If you forged it in a dragon’s breath too, why would it matter who it came from? Why not just-_

_Merlin shakes his head, that smile still there. “No. It wouldn’t have been the same. Tom forged everything with dedication. He had such talent and passion for what he did. Arthur felt the difference in the hold almost right away. And you gave it to me. You actually gave it for him. So it wasn’t just forged in passion, in fire…but also in love. And it saved Arthur so many times Gwen.”_

_She feels new tears and hugs Merlin, who holds her too, letting out a ragged sigh._

_“Come back.” She presses her hand to his cheek. “Merlin.”_

_“Sure. I’ll bring you back to Camelot. I said I would. I would never let you go alone.”_

_She shakes her head, takes his hand and presses it against her shoulder. “No…stay. Merlin, stay.”_

_But he negates her request, softly, gently. “I’m sorry Gwen. I cannot.”_

_She lowers his hand with hers. “What if…what if he…or she… ever needs you?”_

_Merlin stares, shaking some._

_“You were always there for Arthur. Will you be there for his child?”_

_“Gwen-_

_“Please.” She doesn’t let his hand go._

_“I failed him.” Merlin mutters miserably._

_“No.” Gwen objects. “Merlin?”_

_He turns away. “You won’t need me. Albion has peace now.”_

_“Will it hold?” She asks._

_Merlin smiles reassuringly. “I know you’ll keep it.”_

_“Merlin.”_

_He gives another sigh, finally turning back to her and nodding his head._

_“Peace. However…if anything breaks it and you want me there...”_

The memory drifts away from her heart. Merlin of course left it there. Not giving any certainty of anything.

On the way home she did not pressure him for further answer. When he hugged her goodbye, she peacefully accepted his departure. And was glad that at least their short time together could bring back some glimmers of his fun and youthfulness.

She looks to the table now, to where all the flowers have dried away, but for that stubborn little blossoming bud. Nothing will stop it she is sure of. She smiles fondly at the growing gillyflower and caresses her stomach with care, feeling where soon there will be the swelling of life.

“I love you little one…and I will always shield you. Always tell you about the great father you had.”

Her smile is one of melancholy, but also hope.

Never ending hope.

For the future.

For the promise of life.

Evermore.

Her husband’s promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is now where Chambers ends. <3

Thank you for reading. Feedback is loved.

If you’re wondering about Arthur’s chambers dreams, I truly believe in heart Guinevere was always with Arthur. I think in episode 5.13 when he gave Gaius the seal that was with his heart fully of his wife and kingdom, for he expressed it enough. He loved both. And yet, Camelot was nothing without love in his life. I also think when Arthur was taking his last breaths and asking to be held, it was a powerful scene. I think Arthur, realizing how much Merlin had done for him, had braved for him, truly loved him as a friend that moment. But it went beyond, it was such an intimate side of Arthur. He did it so emotionally that I firmly believe it was not just him and Merlin on those banks of grass. Within his heart, when he looked up glassily into the skies…Arthur was with his wife.

Maybe even in chambers.

Thanks dear readers.


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